Letting Go
by Marzipan77
Summary: Sequel to "Holding My Breath." Season 5 Daniel begins to disappear from team interactions leading to feelings of failure. During "Summit" and "Last Stand," why did SG-1 stand by quietly while he went off alone on such a dangerous mission?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This begins just as Holding My Breath ends. If you haven't read that one first, you may want to. This will include the thoughts and feelings of the team during Daniel's undercover at the System Lord summit during Season 5's Last Stand**

Letting Go Chapter 1

Last Stand – Deception and Reality

The grating sound of the large door rising spun Daniel on his heels. Dammit! Was Yu coming to finish what he'd started in the council chamber? No, of course not, he nodded to himself. He just wasn't that lucky. It was her: Osiris – Sarah – he hid the communicator behind his back, but he'd never felt more completely exposed standing there dressed in the thin disguise of Yu's slave. It was almost as if he stood naked before her, the feral smile of a predator turning Sarah's face into something less than human.

"Daniel Jackson," Osiris purred in that thick double rasp. "You're a rather long way from home, aren't you?"

The Tok'ra, the SGC, Hammond, Jack, they'd sent him here as the hunter, armed with only his hard-won understanding of the Goa'uld and a weapon that might be a preemptive strike in a centuries old conflict. But all the scheming of the Tok'ra or the political posturing of Earth's government still left Daniel alone against the vicious Goa'uld who'd beaten Steven nearly to death and would have gladly murdered him with his ribbon device, and was now wearing the brilliant woman he once loved like a costume. And here, alone with her, Daniel was the prey.

"What are you doing here," she growled, sliding a slim blade from its sheath beneath her robe. Light glinted from the needle-sharp tip and into the golden eyes of the Goa'uld, and Daniel took an unconscious step backwards.

"What, me?" He shrugged casually, trying to appear calm while gripping the Tok'ra communicator with hands slick with sweat. "Right now?" He backed until his shoulder was pressed against the wall, his gaze twitching between the Goa'uld's eyes and the blade of the dagger that flicked closer and closer to his face. "Nothing." Daniel shook his head. "Why? You have something in mind?" He tried to gather his scattered thoughts to form a coherent plan that came away with him alive and her- his thoughts cut off abruptly as he felt the tip of the knife touch the skin just beneath his chin.

"Hmm. Insolence." She pressed closer, hissing. "Tell me what subversions you are a part of or I will bleed you dry."

Her long fingers wrapped around his throat. A sense memory threw Daniel back to the pyramid in Egypt where the sounds of Steven's labored breathing mixed with his own grunts of pain. His right hand slipped against the slick surface of the communicator and he nearly dropped it when he felt the thin needle of the Tok'ra ring catch against the switch. Could he… was there enough…

He slapped his hand against her wrist, holding on tightly when her muscles spasmed and her hand clenched bruisingly on his neck. A moment later she faltered, her fierce gaze cloudy, skittering away from his to look about her for something familiar. Her hands dropped and Daniel tried to cover his rush of satisfaction with the blank mask of a lo'taur.

Hands carefully hidden behind his back again, Daniel lowered his head submissively. "May I help you?"

Osiris stepped back. "Who are you?" the Goa'uld demanded, immediately on the offensive even though confusion flashed across the host's face.

"I am Lord Yu's servant. These are my Master's quarters." Daniel forced himself to stillness as his heart pounded and his mind screamed questions. What did that mean to Osiris? What did she see when she looked at him now? Just another faceless, nameless human – a slave – far beneath contempt? Did she – he – still see Daniel's face but now without recognition? Even if the Reol chemical in the ring allowed the user to implant a false memory, the name 'Jarren' would mean nothing to Osiris. And what about Sarah? What was left of her – trapped, helpless – did she still know him? Was she screaming for help? He would have to overwrite Sarah's memory of Daniel Jackson with something else, something just as powerful as the woman's true memories, or give Osiris something to keep him busy, a more necessary, more immediate focus.

"You must have the wrong room, I've gotten lost a few times myself. These corridors all seem to look the same," he babbled, desperate in the face of the Goa'uld's anger, playing for time. Could he let her walk away with only blurred memories of stumbling into Yu's chamber or would that lead to more questions and suspicions?

Osiris had turned away, sheathing the blade, when Daniel realized the Goa'uld had given him the perfect solution.

"If you don't mind my asking, isn't it forbidden to bring weapons to the summit?"

Sarah's features were suddenly tainted with the superior posturing of the being within her. Osiris narrowed her eyes and raked Daniel with his cold stare. "If you speak of it again, I promise, they will be your last words,"

As the heavy door slipped down on the rigid back of the Goa'uld, Daniel couldn't hide a momentary smile. It worked – now all that Osiris would see when he looked at Yu's lo'taur was the cocky slave who dared to question him, not Sarah's former lover. Okay, he'd made another enemy within the gathering of System Lords, but he'd gained some time – hopefully enough to let him find a solution that would save Sarah.

"Jacob – you still there?" he snapped into the Tok'ra communicator.

"Yeah, what happened?"

"Osiris and I kinda got into it," Daniel glossed over an explanation. "The chemical worked."

"Why didn't you just release the poison?" Jacob's words were clipped, impatient, and Daniel knew why. The mission. He'd stood between the Tok'ra and their goals again; stood squarely with his hand on the trigger and refused to pull it.

He closed his eyes. This was too much – too much to expect. The line between tactical gain and murder had become permanently blurred the moment he focused on one human life.

One human life – that's what it had always been about. It had been the life of a self-loathing, nasty AF colonel that had him aim a staff weapon at a Jaffa for the first time on Abydos, and the thought of his wife's slavery that had tightened his finger on an MP5 and rid Chulak of a tank full of infant Goa'uld. No price could be set against the loss of one life no matter what supposedly more practical minds conceived. The loss of one was too much and the saving of one was worth any possible effort. Daniel had studied societies ancient and modern and knew that when a culture devalued life, that culture itself soon died. The Jewish Talmud stated it best: "Save one life; save the world."

"Daniel!"

He clenched his teeth at Jacob's sharp command. Why couldn't he simply press the button? "Because that would have killed Sarah," he stated firmly, needing the Tok'ra to hear him. "There's got to be a way we can save her. Right?" he insisted when Jacob held his silence. "You've taken symbiotes out of hosts without killing them before."

"We'd have to get her out of there first."

"So?" Jacob wasn't listening – he had a plan and there was no room for any latitude – no detours along the military marching line to destruction. Daniel thought Jacob might be different. He'd seemed reluctant, almost sorry, to send Daniel into the Goa'uld's den. But apparently the combination of AF general and centuries old Tok'ra made Jacob/Selmac just as blind as others he could think of.

"Daniel – there's a bigger picture here," the Tok'ra's voice was a study of reasonableness, but Daniel felt himself dig in his philosophical heels. No. He wouldn't listen – he couldn't. "You have to release the poison – do it now."

Orders. He'd never really been good with orders. He shook his head. No. He could not be the person that started the mass murder of host and Jaffa with Sarah's death. Daniel might have volunteered for this insane mission but no one had asked Sarah how she felt about being a sacrifice.

"You know what's at stake, Daniel. No single person's life is more important."

It was. It had to be. Maybe not his – he lowered his head, a wry smile hovering around his lips, he'd figured that out some time ago. But if one single innocent life was worthless and it came up short in the cosmic balance, then how could anything be measured? Was it right to throw Sarah's life away in order to protect thousands? Jacob said yes, and, down deep, Daniel knew that Jack would agree. One life versus many. Tears pricked against the back of his eyes. If they were right – if Jack and Jacob were right – then he'd been very, very wrong.

His silence gave him away and Jacob spoke again. "Complete your mission." Daniel frowned as the pieces fell into place. Of course. If only the quantity of life mattered, if the scale only balanced for the multitude, then his _mission_ finally made sense. Daniel knew he didn't weigh his own life heavily, but, for some strange reason he'd always assumed his friends – his team – had his back, regarded him more highly than he did himself. Hadn't Jack always given him grief about putting himself in danger, at risk, needlessly? Well, maybe not recently. Maybe recently Jack had been more angry than worried, more pissed about mission consequences than personal peril. The SGC had made it very clear that skills like cultural analysis and diplomacy were only useful as far as they acquired the technology, the 'big honking space guns', that were its real aims. Life's worth wasn't intrinsic to them, it was utilitarian.

So, if Daniel's own life weighed no greater than Sarah's, one they were willing to disregard in pursuit of the ever-important mission, then it was as easily thrown away. If he was lost, 'compromised,' scarred, then the cost was small, especially if he took the System Lords along with him. Seven for one – now that he finally understood the game, he had to admit those were pretty good odds.

Last Stand – A New Game

At least his mind was calm now. Resolved. He could look at Sarah across the council chamber and mourn for her, knowing his act would give the human woman the relief she deserved, just as Teal'c's final act gave Shar'e some measure of peace. Of course, Daniel still had to remind himself of that every morning when his first thought upon waking was of his wife's dead face. In his mind, Shar'e forgave him for failing her. Maybe, if he survived, he could convince himself that Sarah did as well.

He didn't know what Ba'al and Yu had spoken of while he was hiding in his Master's quarters, but Yu's boiling rage was back on simmer, and his eyes when he'd glanced at Daniel as he re-entered the chamber were now the cold and calculating eyes of a being who had conquered and held his territories for centuries. Next to him, Osiris was a mere upstart, a weakling, but apparently he and Ba'al had decided to let the Goa'uld have his say among this meeting of his betters.

But Osiris' words were raising the tension level among the System Lords – Daniel could see it in the stiff poses and shifting glances, and could feel it radiating from Yu – it pounded against Daniel's numb awareness. He talked about weakness, and failure, how the System Lords would most likely lose to their inferior opponents if they could not strengthen this fledgling alliance. Daniel didn't miss the icy glint in Sarah's eyes when he spoke about the Goa'uld's supremacy over "those who threaten our domination" – Osiris clearly reminding Daniel that his little question about weapons at the summit was not forgotten. Yu hadn't missed it either. Who knew what punishment Daniel's 'Master' would devise for his servant with even more evidence that his lo'taur had purposefully drawn the attention of his rivals. Well, Yu and his rivals would be dead in a few minutes, and the personal slaves thrown into chaos – hopefully – so he would never have to find out.

Daniel slowly drew out the Tok'ra poison. If this worked, he'd take out all of the System Lords, plus a bonus – he fought down a laugh. Jacob and Jack would be so proud.

Ba'al was talking now, addressing Osiris' request to take part in the Goa'uld summit, to sit among the System Lords and deliberate the fate of millions of Jaffa and human slaves across the galaxy. It was ironic that, with the success of the poison that he held in his hand, Daniel himself had taken those lives into his own hands. He fingered the switch, Jacob's words ringing through his mind. _"You know what's at stake, Daniel. No single person's life is more important."_ The Tok'ra's voice was so loud that he nearly missed Osiris' response.

"I am here to represent the vote of another."

Another? Another what? Daniel hesitated.

"Whom do you serve?" Yu finally asked.

Osiris' eyes narrowed with scorn. "Anubis," he spat.

The backlash was immediate and Daniel had to struggle to keep from tightening his fingers around the poison canister. Ba'al leaped to his feet while the other System Lords snarled and bit out their disbelief, their distrust of this stranger's claim. Daniel frowned, trying to cut through the paralyzing cold that had settled inside him when he'd reached his decision to act. He didn't want to think any more, didn't want to wait, he didn't want to have to come to grips with this decision again. This couldn't matter, could it?

The rage and screeching bellows, the jockeying for dominance bounced around him as his mind reeled. Accusations of lying, assertions that the Goa'uld Anubis was dead, that Yu had murdered him, registered – barely - while Daniel grabbed at his fleeing resolve, but he couldn't hide, couldn't hold onto the blanket he'd thrown over his head to keep out any more words or demands or feelings when he was certain that he'd finally figured it out. He didn't want to know, didn't want to be sent back to teeter between saving one life and saving this mission. But he couldn't stop the thoughts, the streaming information his mind dredged up – he never could.

Anubis- Anpu - protector of and guide for the soul, god of mummification, 'Lord of the Hallowed Land', guiding the dead through the Afterlife towards Osiris. Daniel's eyes snapped to the woman who was approaching Yu's throne, striding closer and closer, eyes fixed on the centuries old System Lord. Osiris and Anubis were linked together in Egyptian mythology, with Isis, with Seth. But he'd never heard the name in association with the Goa'uld.

"Was it not enough that he was banished from the System Lords?" she asked in a mockery of mild incredulity.

"Never to be allowed to return," Yu ground out. Daniel felt all eyes in the room focusing on the confrontation between Yu, leaning forward in his chair, and the upstart Goa'uld before him.

"That was long ago," Osiris retorted, "and only one System Lord remains from that time."

There was no question to whom Osiris was referring. Surprise, shock, denial – all these emotions flashed across Yu's face before he pulled down his well-rehearsed mask. So Anubis was old, perhaps as old as Yu, maybe older. He might have access to vast armies, whole systems of planets beyond the reach of this group of System Lords, or of the Tok'ra. He'd been banished from the ranks of the System Lords since before even Ba'al sat among the group, assumed dead, while he hid and gradually rebuilt his power base in such perfect seclusion that the mighty Goa'uld, rulers of the galaxy, didn't even have a clue that he was still alive.

Daniel felt his own anger rise. Arrogant. Goa'uld and Tok'ra alike, so very arrogant in their absolute conviction that they understood the lines of power that were drawn across the galaxy. He flashed a look of contempt towards the costumed characters gathered in the room and remembered the perfectly composed faces on Revanna. Both groups had been utterly confident that their plans for portioning out life and death would prevail – the Goa'uld sure that this temporary alliance would ease all of their fears of any rival, and the Tok'ra just as convinced that the Goa'uld threat could be confined to this small space station to be wiped out at the touch of a button. He mentally added the uniformed figures seated in a very familiar briefing room between concrete walls. They had been just as sure, just as mistakenly certain of their comprehension of this clash of powers.

"He has sent me to ask that you accept him back." Daniel heard his own contempt echoing in Osiris' ringing tone as the Goa'uld turned his back on Yu's blind rage and strolled casually back across the chamber. "Or place yourselves at his mercy."

Daniel placed the poison canister back into his pouch. Hot and cold raced through him, destroying the soul-numbing fog. Anubis was the threat here – he was the one casually conquering world after world, making the System Lords chase their tails and turn on each other. Destroying this desperate group of Goa'uld would leave him with a clear playing field, and even non-military-minded Daniel Jackson could figure out that was not a good idea. The mission was over. It was a whole new game now.


	2. Chapter 2

Letting Go Chapter 2

Extended Scene – Revanna - An Unlikely Coincidence

Jack looked up as the last Jaffa fell under the loud bursts from staff weapon and P90, meeting Teal'c's steady gaze. They'd retrieved a double-handful of the tunnel-excavating crystals from the science lab, but the echo of weapons fire was sure to bring any marauding Jaffa running to their location – they couldn't risk the time to search for Carter's communication device. He saw agreement in his teammate's eyes and tilted his head towards the doorway that would lead them back to the small room where they'd stashed his 2IC and the newly 'blended' – Jack cringed at the idea - Lt. Elliot. Teal'c moved quickly and nodded once to Jack over his shoulder before edging into the deserted – for now – corridor. Jack followed.

A few twists and turns later and Jack was once again grateful for Teal'c's innate sense of direction. The Jaffa led them firmly and silently away from their last encounter with the enemy, leaving Jack to divide his attention between watching their six and seething inwardly. Keeping his mind focused on the immediate goal of getting his people out of this impossible situation was getting harder and harder, especially with that little voice inside his head that incessantly reminded him that one of 'his people' was far beyond his reach. And now Elliot, raw, green, so eager for action back in the 'gate room, was living Jack's worst nightmare. Hell in a handbasket was too polite a description for this trip down the yellow brick road.

"You recognize the tattoos?" he murmured at the Jaffa's back as the two eased around another sharp corner. As if it would matter just which over-dressed egomaniac was after them this time.

The flash of rage within Teal'c's dark eyes lashed out at Jack in the darkened tunnel as the large figure faced him briefly. "I saw two markings – one was that of Zipacna." The name splattered from his teammate's mouth as if it were a curse.

Jack felt an echoing flame in his own chest. "What, the guy with the earring and the fruity hat at Skaara's trial on Tollana?" He remembered the arrogant pissant's words, comparing humans to cattle, describing the lifelong slavery of the human host as if it were merely the snake's 'due' as 'Master of the Universe.' In a burst of memory he saw Daniel, brow ridged with focus and concentration, so desperate not to lose this opportunity to free his wife's little brother from a captivity for which he'd blamed himself every minute of every day for three long years. Sha're was dead, forever beyond Daniel's help, but, suddenly, Skaara was standing there in front of them – whole, healthy, if scarred by his long slavery – and Jack had known that, even though Skaara was very special to Jack, the possible loss of all that was left of Daniel's Abydonian family would have destroyed his friend.

In their downtimes during the trial, he'd listened helplessly as his teammate had retched up what little food he'd been able to choke down – Daniel had been suffocating under the responsibility, terrified to think that Skaara might have been found just to be lost again, and that it would be his fault. Later, Jack had wondered if that was why Skaara had been so torn in choosing his 'Archon' from between his two friends. Daniel had been the obvious choice – no matter how close Jack had grown to the desert-boy, Daniel was family: he'd lived with Skaara for over a year, and they both knew that the linguist had a brilliant mind and the tongue of a true diplomat. Jack was all bluster and bluntness – it was Daniel who could find the loopholes and appeal to the compassion hidden deep within the Tollan matriarch. And, besides, the Nox had always liked him best. But deep down Jack wondered if, knowing Daniel as Skaara did, the young Abydonian had also chosen Jack as a way to spread the weight of guilt and self-reproach if the trial was lost.

"Indeed, O'Neill," Teal'c responded, jerking the colonel from his reverie. "Zipacna may lead the assault, but he could not coordinate such an attack."

Jack's eyebrows rose. "What makes you say that?"

Contempt radiated from the Jaffa's large frame. "He is a minor Goa'uld – he has neither the resources nor the –"

"- balls?" Jack interrupted.

"- nerve," Teal'c continued, pausing momentarily in his advance, "to carry out an invasion of this magnitude."

Before his teammate could move out again, Jack grabbed him by one sleeve and refused to budge until the larger man was forced to face him. "Wait a minute – you said you saw two markings. Who's the other snakehead?"

Teal'c stiffened, his gaze sweeping the hallways on both sides, never resting on the human who stood before him.

"Hey –" Jack drew himself up to meet the Jaffa eye to eye and packed the word with command. "Straight answer, Teal'c."

The warrior tilted his head, radiating disdain, and focused on his commander. "I have only seen the other mark in record files. The Goa'uld to whom it belongs had been silent for many centuries and only recently found his way back to power."

"Yeah?" Impatience tightened Jack's lips.

"It is the mark of the Goa'uld Osiris." Teal'c turned from his teammate and moved away, silently.

After a moment, the stunned Air Force officer hurried to catch up with the stiff back of the Jaffa. "Osiris? The snake that grabbed Daniel's old girlfriend in Chicago?"

Teal'c neither responded nor hesitated to move towards their planned rendezvous with Carter and Elliot and Jack ground his teeth at the Jaffa's more-than-usually-irritating stoicism, having no problem interpreting the silence of the Jaffa's growing anger. Hell, even after a year and a half the guy was probably still mad that Jack had cut off all communication with the SGC by tossing Teal'c's cell phone's battery into the tall weeds surrounding his Minnesota retreat while Daniel, Carter, and Doc Frasier bore the brunt of the newly resurrected Goa'uld's fury under that pyramid in Egypt. Not one of Jack's banner moments, he sneered at himself. He'd always poked fun at Daniel's penchant for pouting when he didn't get his way, but there really was no other word to describe his own attitude when he'd purposefully cut himself off from his friends' calls for help during that little debacle. Daniel, still bearing the red imprint of the hand device on his forehead and that haunted look in his eyes had brushed off Jack's flimsy apology, but Teal'c, Carter and Hammond had been truly pissed.

"Teal'c." He hated the unconscious regret that colored his voice and cleared his throat decisively. "Teal'c, hold it a minute," he ordered. The Jaffa stopped abruptly and turned to glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Osiris has been back for a little over a year – could he have become a major player again that soon?"

"It is unlikely. Perhaps he sought alliance with Zipacna in order to secure territory more easily. According to Daniel Jackson, the Goa'uld had been interred on Earth for many thousands of years. His knowledge of the Goa'uld power structure would have been extremely limited."

Jack nodded. "Okay. So Zippy and his new best friend have joined up and just happen to find enough intel on the Tok'ra to launch a full scale attack on their 'super secret base'," the fingers of his left hand sketched quotation marks around the phrase, "oh-so-coincidentally while Daniel's team is paying a visit to Tok'ra-land?"

Teal'c's eyes lost some of their brooding menace and his head dropped into a hesitant nod. "I do not believe so, O'Neill."

"Yeah, me either." Jack jerked his head in the direction they'd been traveling and fell into step with his teammate. "What the hell is going on, Teal'c? The big guys – the System Lords – " Jack let his bitterness turn the title into something synonymous with white-haired senators, "are all supposed to be busy making nice at this summit that Jacob dragged Daniel to, aren't they?"

"That was my understanding as well." Teal'c's gaze never rested, peering through the airborne debris that muddied the air within the breached Tok'ra base, but Jack could see the tension that held his muscles rigid was not all about their present situation.

"So, how could these two bit players be attacking with this much organization and firepower?" Jack swept a hand down over his face. "You think this whole thing is a set-up?"

The raised fist of his teammate stopped Jack and he crouched, listening. A moment later Teal'c edged forward cautiously. "It would not be the first time that the Tok'ra's belief in the infallibility of their intrigues endangered both themselves and those allied with them," he growled.

"Good point," Jack agreed through clenched teeth. He felt Teal'c's criticism hit its mark his conscience stabbed at him – the Jaffa's words could as easily be aimed at the SGC, General Hammond, and Jack himself. They'd grabbed at this flimsy opportunity to wipe out the Goa'uld threat without a backwards glance, throwing Daniel to the wolves on what data, with what evidence? Hell, they'd been more hesitant about the damned Tok'ra armbands while he and his team were safely on planet Earth than they'd been with Ren'Al's extremely brief little briefing. "What did we send Daniel into?" he muttered.

Teal'c stopped and aimed his level stare at his commanding officer. "_I_ sent Daniel Jackson nowhere, O'Neill."

Jack bit back a retort and tightened his lips. "Yeah, I got that." Dammit. He hated it when Teal'c was right, but hated it even more that he had been wrong – profoundly and overwhelmingly wrong. "So," he eased down the narrow tunnel at the Jaffa's back, "the question is, what the hell can we do about it?"

"Nothing has changed regarding Daniel Jackson's mission." Teal'c's low voice rumbled, anger hardening the smooth edges. "He is alone among the System Lords, a powerful group of beings who would torture and kill him with little provocation no matter their current strategy. Either he will be successful in this mission or he will die." He turned back to make sure Jack was listening. "Or worse." Teal'c paused as he saw his words sink in. "This has been true since this mission was first conceived. Our knowledge changes nothing." He turned away.

The surge of anger and loss filled Jack's vision with blood and darkness and he staggered past the bulk of the motionless Jaffa. Nothing he could do. Nothing. His hands ached where they choked the smooth grip of the weapon against his chest, hoping to find some reassurance in the familiar sensation of power resting at his fingertips. He was desperate for a target – any target – something he could empty clip after clip into as if that would purge his soul of the rotting stain of his guilt. He stumbled, stiff hands barely moving in time to brace himself against the sharp crystals of the tunnel wall, the resultant pricking spots of red on his palms completely fitting. More blood on his hands.

Insistent mutterings tried to pierce the deafening rush of sound that filled his mind and Jack blinked up, startled, at the broad, dark face of his teammate, staring as the thick lips formed his name. He shook his head. "Yeah, Teal'c." This wasn't the time. Not the place. His team was depending on him to get them out of this – he stifled a snort – more pity them. He smacked the Jaffa sharply on one shoulder and straightened, composing his face into its soldier's mask. Guilt – regret – loss – consequences – these were Daniel's territory, not his. He swallowed the bile and faced forward, as he had so many, many times before, the weight of responsibility crushing him. He was in charge, the commanding officer, the one it fell to to act, to save, to choose a course of action and run with it. Colonel Jack O'Neill would never have the luxury of doubt or the time for constant questioning that the civilian had. Yeah, Jack nodded, his gesture unseen in the gloom of the alien tunnel, and sometimes he hated Daniel for that.

He stepped out, weapon ready, muscles loose. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

Letting Go Chapter 3

New Players, New Rules – Last Stand – Selmac Learns of Anubis

Daniel winced at the metallic clang that seemed to reverberate inside his skull as his thick fingers released their hold on the pitcher to clutch desperately at the counter in front of him. A wave of nausea and exhaustion nearly folded him in half and he struggled to keep his feet, his mind reeling sluggishly through possible explanations for this sudden weakness. He fumbled for Yu's cup, relieved that he'd made it to the space station's galley area before his collapse, his luck holding enough to get him there before the other lo'taurs arrived. Shaking hands brought cool water to his lips and he swallowed quickly, gasping at the immediate cramping in his gut when the liquid met with his empty stomach. He turned, cup falling, pouring out its contents at his feet, while his eyes sought out the dark recess that he remembered was tucked between gold supports, hidden behind a subtle curtain. Humans were humans – his mind, unbidden, dredged up images and descriptions of ancient and modern waste facilities through the ages – and the servants and hosts of even the self-proclaimed superior race needed some kind of plumbing. Daniel forced his limp legs to move, to support his weight across the few yards of open floor between him and his goal, clenching his teeth against what his stomach was enthusiastically rejecting.

More luck. He choked out the last of the bile, coughing and spitting, into the metal receptacle, sweat burning eyes already tender from the unaccustomed lenses – he barely stopped himself from rubbing his fingers against his tightly closed lids just in time – he didn't want to be discovered on his knees searching for a contact lens any more than he cared to spend the rest of his time among the Goa'uld trying to focus through one eye. He stumbled to the basin and cupped his hand under the water, making sure he didn't swallow anything as he rinsed out his mouth and splashed the liquid against his face. Even the smooth surface of the cloth hanging nearby felt rough against his sensitive skin; patting himself dry he raised his eyes to the large, polished surface above the sink and blinked at the strange figure he saw there – eyes dazed, furrows of pain dug deeply into his forehead and around his mouth, his thin clothes clinging uncomfortably tightly to the slick sweat covering his skin. He tried to straighten when another surge of dizziness threatened to send him back to the cold floor.

What was this? He was used to going for days with little rest or food when he was working on a particularly difficult translation or was forced to by an off-world situation; this kind of debilitation only set in when he was at the absolute end of his rope which should still be days away. He eased one finger beneath the leather collar and managed a few slow, shallow breaths. He hadn't expected to be at the summit this long – a quick in, pull the trigger, and out had been what Jacob and Ren'Al had advised, what the Tok'ra had been counting on. "Barring unforeseen circumstances." His lips tightened into a snarl. Yeah. Just a few of those. So far. Between late arriving System Lords, delays, the intrigues of the servants, an unexpected guest, and now the revelation of another more powerful, more dangerous Goa'uld out there where no poison would reach and the quick little mission had turned into a long, drawn-out nightmare.

He had to talk to Jack – no, _to Jacob_, he reminded himself firmly, shaking his head and nearly hurling himself against the wall in the process. Jack wasn't here – none of his team was here. Just one former-Air-Force-general-now-blended-Tok'ra who was going to be just as pissed as Jack would be if he knew that Daniel had blown the mission. Damn, he rubbed stiff fingers against his temple, still holding tightly to the sink with one hand. Why couldn't he think straight?

Jacob. Jacob would know what to do. He fumbled at the pouch on his waist for the communicator, but froze as murmuring voices floated through the thin curtain that separated him from the galley area. The other lo'taurs had arrived – he couldn't chance being overheard speaking with Jacob. Slowly withdrawing his hand, Daniel's fingers brushed against a flimsy strip of paper, trailing over a series of small raised bumps that decorated it. What? Steadying himself against the wall, he slid the item from where it nestled in the pouch and glanced down at it, sighing in grateful recognition. The stimulants – Jacob had given him a sheaf of the stimulants that Tok'ra operatives used to stay awake and alert during missions. And he'd warned Daniel about the need to take them on a regular basis and the consequences to his body if he waited too long.

Shaking hands tore off two of the small pills and shoved them under his tongue, waiting anxiously as the sharp tang filled his mouth. Hopefully the doubled dosage would be distributed that much more quickly throughout his blood stream – he couldn't stay hidden away in here for long, he had to be able to act normally before the scrutiny of the scheming lo'taurs and especially among the gathered Goa'uld.

An almost painful electric tingle swept down his spine, radiating down his limbs to his fingertips and toes. The muddled fog cleared from his brain as if by a strong gust of wind and everything was at once thrown into sharp relief. Osiris. Anubis. He had to tell Jacob about the new threat explain why he hadn't risked the poison, risked eliminating the System Lords, the only beings who stood between the powerful resurrected Goa'uld and complete domination of the galaxy. His stomach spasmed again, sharply, but now he was able to think past it, cope, ignore his physical symptoms and concentrate on what was important. He could do this – this is what he did. Daniel ran damp hands through his hair and carefully adjusted his clothing, stretching cramped muscles and straightening smartly to his full height. The mirror reflected his newfound energy – his eyes were bright, blazing, and the pain induced creases at their corners were receding. He nodded to himself. Better.

Daniel's sudden appearance outside the privacy curtain stilled the casual voices of the lo'taurs gathered in the large room, and he felt every eye of the assembled servants as he crossed the distance to his station, crouching quickly to retrieve Yu's cup from where it had fallen. With swift motions he cleaned out the simple metal goblet and began rummaging through the cabinets and crates within arms' reach for suitable plates on which he would serve his master's meal. Out of the corner of his eye Daniel observed the thin form of Ba'al's slave make his way back and forth through the area, depositing an array of steaming dishes before each lo'taur, still acting as honorary host – Daniel chuckled quietly at the inadvertent pun. He watched as trusted slaves tasted each offered dish before plating selected items to present to his or her master. A matter of taste or a matter of safety, Daniel wondered, eyes narrowing in concentration. Were these humans merely choosing the savories according to the Goa'ulds' preferences, or were they fulfilling the historic role of 'food taster' in its more sinister definition – cannon fodder, guinea pig, sacrificial lamb. Huh. He could relate.

He suppressed a shudder as the air moved across him – the fine hairs all over his body were standing at rigid attention, the uncomfortable undercurrent still singing along his nerves, surging through his senses, making all the garish colors that perpetually surrounded the Goa'uld even more blinding and intense. Daniel's mind darted from image to image, thought to thought, and his breathing quickened, forcing oxygen into his body, priming it for movement, fight or flight. He jerked at a touch on his left shoulder, dropping to his right into a defensive posture, arms raised.

"Softly, beautiful," the amused voice belonged to Morrigan's persistent, leather-clad servant, who was standing much too close.

Daniel stood, lowering his arms, anger sparking from every pore. If he had a weapon, the man before him would be riddled with bullets; he imagined the sightless eyes, blood pooling under the dead man's flaccid body. He struggled to control his panting breaths, narrowing his eyes at the figure leaning so casually against the counter before him.

"Forgive me, I am but seeking an eating implement for my Mistress, not a fight." Dark eyes lingered on the places Daniel's shirt strained across his chest before moving leisurely up the column of his throat to his face. "Although if you choose to pit your strength against mine," he flexed his muscles, a hungry smile and half-lidded eyes communicating his obvious intent, "I would not be… adverse."

Daniel sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I doubt if your _Mistress,_" he infused the word with contempt, "could manage Lord Yu's k'uai-tzu," he held up the polished ebony chopsticks the System Lord preferred. "Their use, after all, requires some level of intelligence and dexterity." He made sure his grin showed all his teeth as he angled his upper body closer in mock confidence, "And perhaps, if you cannot remember to bring something as simple as utensils, your _Mistress_ should choose a lo'taur with at least the mental capacity of a _tel'yanta_."

Leaning back, Daniel was forced to wait a long moment before the insult registered in the lo'taur's eyes. The expected snarl and lunge was met with a fierce blow from the heel of Daniel's hand that connected to Morrigan's slave's chin, knocking his head backward and closing his mouth with a loud crack. The muscle-bound human staggered backward and Daniel turned quietly to his station, accepting the covered dishes from Ba'al's waiting lo'taur with a simple bow. He quickly tasted each offering and then twitched a small serving of each item onto a square brown plate, realizing that, although he had been served last, Yu's food would still be warm when Daniel delivered it to the council chamber. He nodded, filled Yu's cup, and waited impatiently for Ba'al's servant to join him before leaving the galley without a backwards glance.

Daniel found he had to force himself to a more sedate pace to match the other man's deliberate stride – he was anxious to hurry ahead, to deliver the meal, and to somehow get away long enough to speak with Jacob before Yu found yet another task for his lo'taur. His heart was pounding in his chest and his mind flipped through a series of hypothetical situations, distracting him from the low, steady voice of the young man at his side.

"…and, while I would normally be forced to report any physical altercations between the servants of my Master's guests," Daniel finally tuned in to Ba'al's lo'taur's words, "All saw that you had been sorely provoked."

Realizing that the statement required a response, Daniel inclined his head and searched for the right wording. "I appreciate your forbearance." It was clear to the linguist that the slave would report the entire incident to Ba'al at his first opportunity, but maybe Daniel could reap some advantage out of this situation. From the Tok'ra intelligence that Ren'Al had provided him, he knew that the personal servants of the System Lords were just as cutthroat and dangerous as their masters; perhaps if he played the 'confused innocent' card Ba'al's slave would assume him an easy mark and let something important slip. After all, Jarren, as the most recent addition to the status of trusted lo'taur, might be expected to be vulnerable, unwise to the machinations of the more veteran humans in service to the Goa'uld. It was worth a try.

"My Master would be… unhappy… that I was forced to resort to violence," he admitted reluctantly. "And my Master's hand is heavy when he is… unhappy."

Ba'al's slave's face was intent, but a hint of satisfaction hovered behind his eyes. "Well, we do not wish Lord Yu's unhappiness to impact the council. That would, in turn, anger my Lord Ba'al."

The scent of the heavily spiced dishes on the servants' trays coupled with the few morsels Daniel had been forced to swallow sent his already nauseated stomach into painful contractions and he felt sweat break out anew on his forehead. Stifling a groan Daniel moved into the circular chamber just behind Ba'al's slave and moved to present his platter to the seated System Lord for his inspection. He struggled to keep his features carefully blank, eyes lowered to avoid seeing Sarah's delicate features or the intense confrontation taking place at Morrigan's position behind him. But the narrowed eyes of Lord Yu missed nothing as the cold gaze flicked over Daniel's face and body, and then around the small circle of figures.

Daniel raised his eyebrows and made sure his eyes captured Yu's attention. "Does my lord wish alternate choices?" He steadied his hands against the pain in his gut and the shivering that raced along his spine, stamping his features with a mask of calm servitude and forcing himself to wait – wait – when all he wanted to do was hurry away.

Yu sniffed once and then tugged the platter out of Daniel's hands. Before he could turn away, one aged hand shot out and grasped Daniel's wrist in a tight hold.

"I see that Morrigan's pet has injured himself," he murmured casually, his face set into immobility.

"Has he, my lord?" Daniel feigned indifference under Yu's silent appraisal.

With a subtle nod Yu released his hold on Daniel's wrist, but not on his eyes. "His death would not serve me at this time, but," the System Lord drew one finger slowly down Daniel's cheek and then in a soft caress across his lips, "see that you do not shame me by allowing yourself to incur damage that can be so readily seen by my enemies."

Waiting until the Goa'uld retrieved his hand, Daniel tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I understand, my lord."

Yu waved one hand in dismissal and Daniel stepped back and followed his fellow servants out of the council chamber, discharged until they were summoned to remove the empty plates and bowls. He hurried away, intent on reaching Yu's personal quarters and avoiding any more drama among the human slaves. Steps quickening as he navigated the hallways, Daniel grabbed the communicator as the heavy door to Yu's chambers began its slow ascent.

He ducked under the door and paced to the other end of the room. "Jacob!"

"Yeah, are you ready?" The response was quick, eager.

"Uh… not exactly." He had to explain, to make Jacob understand.

"Dammit, Daniel." Daniel expected anger, shouting, a demand for reasons for his actions – or inactions - but Jacob just sounded… disappointed. He let out a soft groan.

"Look, I was going to do it," he stammered, "but then Osiris said she was here representing another Goa'uld named Anubis." He couldn't poison the System Lords now – surely Jacob could see that. One arm braced across his rebellious stomach, Daniel moved from one end of the room to the other, trying to dispel the jumpiness, the tension that clutched at him.

It was Selmac's voice that answered. "He is dead."

Was that fear coloring the Tok'ra's words? "Apparently not, he wants to rejoin the System Lords."

"Why now?" Still Selmac. Something had seriously alarmed the Tok'ra – these choked off answers and questions sounded nothing like the stolid, centuries-old being he'd come to know, and they certainly weren't indicative of Jacob Carter's take-charge personality. They did nothing to dispel Daniel's own anxiety, either. "Where has he been for the last thousand years?"

Thousand years? That made Anubis a contemporary of Ra, the Supreme System Lord that he and Jack had nuked to oblivion on their first trip through the Stargate. Perhaps Anubis' death – or banishment – had allowed Ra to come to power in the first place. The sheer scope of time involved- this was galactic history far past anything Daniel and the SGC was familiar with. How could Jacob and Selmac expect Daniel to have these answers? Wasn't Selmac one of the oldest of the living Tok'ra – shouldn't he know the story?

"_I_ _don't know_," Daniel retorted sharply. "We suspected that there was a new Goa'uld on the rise, we just didn't know which one. I guess it turns out he's not so new." He shouldn't have to explain all this – Daniel wanted the same answers, needed a way to get Sarah off this station, and an exit strategy for himself since it didn't look like the sudden bloody deaths of the System Lords at his hand would be happening any time soon.

Selmac, still shocked, still struggling with this huge monkey-wrench that had been thrown into the Tok'ra's plans couldn't seem to grasp the situation. "If it really is Anubis…"

Daniel turned and paced the chamber's circumference. "Then killing all the System Lords here would just open the door for him to take over completely," his words tumbled over each other in his haste. Dammit, Jacob – Selmac – whoever, I don't have time for this. "You always said yourself that a bunch of warring System Lords is better than one all powerful one, so…"

"You do not understand how bad Anubis is," Selmac warned.

No, of course I don't, Daniel rolled his eyes at the further delay, I only know what little bits of information the almighty Tok'ra are willing to part with, not nearly enough to successfully bring off a mission like this. Anger boiled through him along the same nerve-endings that carried the now familiar sting of energy, and Daniel bit his tongue to keep silent while Selmac continued.

"He was banished by the System Lords because his crimes were unspeakable, even to the Goa'uld."

Yep, sounds bad. "Yeah, so, guess what? Mission's off," Daniel snapped. If what he'd seen here was typical, the constant infighting and jockeying for position would keep the System Lords and Anubis busy for a few years – busy enough to allow Earth and its allies to build up some resources of their own when the time came to make a frontal assault. And to come up with a plan that didn't massacre host and Jaffa alike. The images fed his nausea and filled his mouth with saliva- he swallowed it down, desperate to end this conversation, grab Sarah, and get the hell out of there.

"Anubis has not waited this long just to return to the System Lords. There must be more going on."

Choking back his impatience, Daniel closed his eyes at the Tok'ra's doggedness. Couldn't they discuss this later, back on Revanna? Every moment he stayed here he was risking his life, and for what? The mission was over. "So?" he prodded, eyes darting to the door, to the signal light that would demand Yu's slave's presence back in the council chamber.

"You must stay," Selmac stated bluntly, "and find out what it is, if you can."

What? Daniel staggered backwards, releasing the switch on the Tok'ra communicator. Selmac couldn't be serious. He shook his head, looking around the ornate room as if searching for an explanation, a way out, but he was at the mercy of the Tok'ra, totally dependent on Jacob and Selmac for his escape. He'd stay there, on the space station, surrounded by Goa'uld and their servants until Selmac was good and ready to let him go. Or until it was too late.

**A/N: Thank you all for your comments, favoriting (a new verb!), and patience concerning this fic. I do really appreciate all of your time spent reading and sending such great feedback. Updating on a much more regular basis is definitely my goal – again, thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

Letting Go Chapter 4

Last Stand – Revanna – Between a Tok'ra and a Hard Place

Sam tightened the cap on her canteen without drinking. Half-full. And no access to water down here while they played hide and seek with the Jaffa roaming the collapsed Tok'ra tunnels. She glanced down at Elliot's pale face, his eyes refusing to remain open for more than a few seconds, his neck still canted at an unnatural angle. She glanced back over her shoulder, straining to hear the scrape of a familiar boot or the low murmur of a friendly voice - she'd save as much water as she could for Elliot, for Lantash, but Teal'c and the colonel had to get back soon so they could escape this deathtrap and get to the surface.

"They should have been back by now."

Elliot was reading her mind. She smiled to herself – it was a familiar feeling.

"I'm sure they're okay – they'll be back soon," she assured him, even though far from convinced herself. She clutched her weapon to her chest, eyes steady on the only entrance to the dark alcove they'd pulled Elliot's unresponsive body into. "How're you doing?"

The young airman's breathing came in uneven gasps – there was nothing autonomic about it. The symbiote seemed to be pulling in oxygen when it realized Elliot's body' needed it, distracted from this most basic of human functions by the injuries it sought to heal.

"It's very strange."

Sam glanced down for a second, wishing there was a way to take back her question. She didn't really want to hear any more, didn't want to have Elliot's words trigger her own dark memories of Jolinar's unwanted presence. "I know," she muttered, lacing her voice with her reluctance, hoping he would stop. Funny how it was so much easier to care about Martouf's last chance at life when she was looking at the symbiote lying unresponsive within a stasis chamber, not when she saw the flash of that life within Elliot's pale eyes.

The colonel's face had been grim, haunted, when she told him about Elliot and Lantash. He still bore the scar where Hathor's pet Goa'uld had penetrated the back of his neck, and although the symbiote had died before it took control, that memory still peppered his nightmares. Nightmares each member of SG-1 had faced over and over again since they'd first stepped foot through the Stargate. Teal'c had lived beneath their rule, had been expected to choose humans to be their lifelong hosts - the squirming immature symbiote in his gut a sure sign of his slavery. She had been seized by Jolinar during a rescue mission among a devastated people who were running for their lives. And Daniel – he'd seen his wife, his younger brother, and his lover taken over when Goa'uld had stabbed themselves through vulnerable necks and strangled his loved ones' minds.

Elliot's 'blending' brought the potential risks of their continued war with the Goa'uld very close to home – and made them realize, again, why exactly they were still fighting, still putting themselves at risk to maintain alliances with groups as unpredictable as the Tok'ra. But right now, glancing down at the much too young face, skin gray against the gray stone beneath him, Sam's thoughts flew to another young face and its piercing blue eyes, more at risk than ever on the horribly ill-conceived Tok'ra undercover mission among the most dangerous examples of the Goa'uld race. She didn't want to talk about alien symbiotes taking human hosts for any reason - didn't want to think about it anymore. It was too real, too painful.

But Elliot didn't know her, didn't hear the subtle warning in her tone. She swallowed tightly. He hadn't learned to read her moods as easily by what she didn't say as by what she did. He was a friend, a colleague, but still far from a part of her team, her family. He wasn't Teal'c, or the colonel, or Daniel – Daniel would know to leave it alone.

The lieutenant's expression was waxen, unresponsive, slack muscles turning his usually animated face into a mask, all senses turned inward. "It's like…I suddenly know everything about someone else's life. Two other people, actually," he persisted, murmuring, unknowingly dredging up more unwanted thoughts and feelings.

She stared, an awkward fluttering of fear in her chest. This is exactly what she'd been afraid of. Lantash – Martouf – Jolinar - the bindings that tied them all up were hopelessly tangled, intricately woven, until she'd lost focus on where Samantha Carter ended and all these other beings began. The symbiotes, the humans, the attempts to define life and love had been badly complicated every time Martouf had looked at her face and seen only the image of his dead mate. And now all of those thoughts, those feelings, were alive again within Elliot, including the sight of Sam pulling the trigger on the zat gun that ended his life.

"I hear his thoughts every now and then… but he's using all his strength to try and save me."

Good. Sam winced inwardly at the thought. How selfish was it to hope that the symbiote would be kept too busy healing to blend completely with the injured airman – to empty all of Martouf's dreams and desires into Elliot's mind so that, when he did open his eyes, all she'd be able to see was the Tok'ra host who'd once touched her so tenderly.

The sounds of the aerial barrage crept closer and the air seems to vibrate with the weapons' impact. Sam gazed at the roof above them, already compromised, crystals and columns fallen among piles of dirt and dust. "Sounds like they're coming around for another run," she warned, curling her body over the injured airman's as the explosions sounded closer and closer. The dust settled and she leaned back.

Elliot's bitter words took her by surprise. "What a joke," he muttered.

"What?"

"I can't believe I'm actually going to die on my first mission."

"You're not," she snapped, biting back the nagging voice of the eternal realist inside her head that cautioned that he might, he just might. They could all die within these tunnels.

Eyelids fluttering, Elliot twisted his head to face her, lips twisted in angry cynicism. "C'mon, Major, even if the symbiote could fix what's wrong with me we're never getting out of here."

No. This wasn't right. Sam was the one who pointed out the logical consequences to the team's actions, not the one who offered encouragement, confidence in the face of certain death to her teammates. "Sure we are," she tried, working to echo the colonel's usual smirking comments, "you've read our mission files. We go through the 'gate, get into trouble, get out of it and we go home." It didn't sound particularly convincing.

"Tell that to Major Mansfield."

"Okay, forget the pep-talk." She deliberately hardened her tone, forging it with steel. "You knew what you were signing up for." Get with the mission, suck it up, walk it off – oh, God, it wasn't the colonel inside her head, it was her father with all of the same macho bullshit she'd had to listen to since she could remember. And now she was spouting it back in the vulnerable face of the man who lay so damaged beneath her.

"Yeah," Elliot admitted reluctantly, eyes firmly closed in the face of her intensity.

She hated it – hated the look of humiliation she saw etched into his suddenly tense muscles, but knew that Elliot had to reach down for all of the inner strength that she'd seen him display during training when they'd thrown everything they could think of against his determination to belong to this program. "You got this assignment because you were strong, both physically and mentally. Give the symbiote inside you a chance – he needs you as much as you need him right now." Sam had to reach him, make him hear her. "Do not-"

The rest of her speech was lost in the choking blast that took down the tunnel's ceiling at her back. Sam threw herself atop Elliot and held her arms over her head. Rocks, dirt, dust, pelted her back for long agonizing minutes. When the shaking stopped she sat up and scanned the dusty chamber. The narrow opening that once led into the tunnel was filled with debris. They were trapped.

Last Stand – Missing Scene – Between the Tok'ra and a Hard Place

Jacob smacked both hands palm down on the control panel of the cargo ship. "What the hell are you doing?" His eyes automatically darted towards the space station, hanging motionless against the glare of so many nearby stars, as if his enraged shout could somehow transfer through the vacuum of space to be heard by the System Lords plotting within it.

'You do not need to address me outwardly, Jacob,' Selmac's thoughts were wary, guarded, as if the violence and verbal explosion of his host had taken him completely by surprise.

"I know that, Selmac," Jacob shouted, reveling in the control that his symbiote had relinquished as soon as Daniel had shut down communications. "But after what you just said to Danny, you'll have to forgive me if I feel like hearing the sound of my own voice!"

'Of course.' The symbiote was calm, conciliatory, but Jacob could feel the uncertainty beneath the Tok'ra's reassurance.

"What could you possibly be thinking, Selmac?" Jacob thrust to his feet and strode back to the cargo area of his ship, arms swinging his wide sleeves through the empty air. "This was not part of the plan and you know it – Daniel is not a Tok'ra operative on a mission, and you making him stay in there, among the damn System Lords," he emphasized the two words with a finger jabbed in the direction of the station, "just to satisfy some Tok'ra curiosity does not even come close to being right."

Images, memories from the oldest living Tok'ra, began unfolding before Jacob's inner eye. The subjugation of countless worlds, inhuman torture inflicted on the inhabitants, suns suddenly extinguished. Hundreds of jackal-helmed Jaffa laid down their weapons before bitter enemies in the hope of finding a clean death. Minor Goa'uld petitioned the Supreme Lord Ra for mercy, for succor, against the horror that was Anubis. These were memories clouded by age, distant, remote, with color and life leached from them and still they turned Jacob's stomach, shocked him to immediate silence. He stumbled to a halt, one hand braced against the bulkhead, head lowered to pull in great gasps of air past the bile that choked his throat.

Selmac stayed silent while Jacob gained back his breath and blinked the present into focus before his eyes, the screams of Anubis' victims fading into the hum of the ship's engines. 'I am sorry, my friend.' The symbiote's inner voice was deeply mournful. 'I hope you know me well enough to believe that I wish you no hurt from these memories - as I wish Daniel Jackson none for his loyalty and courage in service to the Tok'ra.'

"Yeah, well, you have a funny way of showing it sometimes, Selmac," Jacob muttered, one hand scraping across his bare scalp. He turned and rested his back against the ornate gold wall, twisting his neck to relieve a headache he hadn't known he had. His eyes drifted closed.

'These were images I had hoped never to again share with a host,' Selmac whispered. 'Anubis has been dead – gone – for hundreds of years. His assets scattered, his worlds claimed by others, his name a distant curse used to frighten children.' The symbiote paused for so long that Jacob reached further within to find Selmac's thoughts a morass of fleeting emotions and ideas.

'Selmac.'

'My friend – even the images that sicken you are not the extent of Anubis' threat. He was – is – vile, inventive, depraved, loathsome, intelligent, ruthless. That the Tok'ra have this information almost before the Goa'uld – it may mean our very survival that Daniel Jackson is among them, listening, asking questions. Perhaps his former relationship with Osiris' host may help us obtain further information.'

'You cannot possibly…' Jacob concentrated, trying to spice his inner words with all the frustration and rage that he still found it so much easier to infuse into his audible voice. 'Listen to yourself! You're suggesting that Danny continue this masquerade for, what, days? He'll never survive – it was never meant to go on as long as it has already.'

'Many things have changed since then, Jacob.' Selmac's words took on a sterner tone. 'Would you have us blind and deaf to the greatest threat the galaxy has known?'

Jacob opened his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. The strategies of the Tok'ra spanned human generations, and after three years, Jacob still had moments of shock at what he saw as the callousness of the alien race. He tilted his head, trying to put Selmac's flood of intentions into perspective. 'Just what are you suggesting here?'

'Daniel has a deep connection with Osiris' host. He wishes to save her, to bring her to us so that we may remove the implanted symbiote. He would even eagerly put himself in harm's way to do this.'

'So – what – you're going to use that to get him to cooperate?' Jacob felt his nostrils flare in outrage. 'Dangle her rescue over him so that he agrees to throw himself away on some fishing expedition?' He couldn't help the mirthless laugh that escaped his lips. 'You are a piece of work, Selmac.'

Selmac was quiet a moment. 'It is what he wishes, Jacob, is it not?'

"You damn well know it is!" Jacob shouted. He panted, angrier than he'd ever been at his symbiote, at the Tok'ra, at the SGC for allowing them to put Daniel into this position in the first place. He'd been torn, uncertain, from the very beginning. Angry at the High Council, surprised at the willingness of Daniel's teammates – of his own daughter – to shrug off the danger. Now he wished Daniel had taken him up on his not so subtle offer to back out before they'd even reached Yu's home world. Jacob had been in the middle, hearing the urgings of the Tok'ra from within his own mind while the general – the human – in him struggled with the risks to the young scholar. And now Daniel had been thrust there – in the middle - standing squarely between the Tok'ra's schemes and his own desire to save his friend from a lifetime of slavery.

'No.' There was a desperation in Selmac's inner voice, but Jacob turned away, not sure if it was fueled by the Tok'ra's limitless craving for answers or any true feeling for his human host. 'Do not believe that I am a heartless monster, my friend,' the symbiote pleaded. 'Try to understand. Daniel Jackson's heart demands a chance to rescue this human woman; the Tok'ra could learn much from Osiris. Why must there be a conflict?'

Jacob shook his head. Selmac was being completely honest. He'd heard Daniel's pleas concerning Sarah Gardner, and understood the young man's deep commitment to his friends. And he really believed that Daniel's desires and the Tok'ra's intentions lined up here just about perfectly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

'Selmac? I hear you. You're shocked. Anubis is a dangerous Goa'uld. He's a threat you never expected to have to face again. But in there, alone, far from any help, a young man I care about like a son is facing something damn dangerous, too. Do you get that?'

'I do, however-'

'However nothing!' Jacob tried to clamp down on his frustration, deliberately quieting his inner voice. 'His job was to get in, use the poison, and get out, not to turn into a Tok'ra James Bond. And I won't let you use him like this.'

He felt Selmac rifle through his mind for the meaning behind the reference before he answered, the Tok'ra's inner touch dragging other memories with him to the surface: Daniel taking point on their escape from Netu, the fire in his blue eyes when he volunteered to infiltrate Seth's bunker. 'Perhaps, Jacob, your fears for Daniel have less to do with me, with the Tok'ra and the threat of the Goa'uld, and more to do with you.'

The statement startled Jacob. 'What?'

'This 'young man' you describe so well. This loyal, intelligent young man – this young man who feels deeply and stubbornly attempts feats others would prefer to save him from. You do not believe that Daniel Jackson is capable of this - of not only surviving, but of removing Osiris from the summit and bringing him before us.'

'Of course he's…' Jacob began, hesitantly, thoughts swirling.

'Did we not both conclude that Daniel Jackson is a young man who is quite a bit stronger than he appears?' Selmac gently reminded Jacob of their discussion about the archaeologist on the way to Yu's home world.

His stomach clenched around the knot of fear that had been tightening since this mission was first conceived. Was it fear for this adopted son that colored his judgment of Selmac's motives, or was that fear so much stronger, so much more intense because he saw Daniel as less worthy of trust, of confidence, than a soldier like Jack or even Sam? Was this familial bond he shared with the academic based on hard won respect for the younger man or a patronizing necessity to protect the weak civilian?

The answer came quickly - gut-level, instinctual. 'Daniel is a fighter,' he felt the beginnings of a smile on his face. 'He's a survivor. That man has been through things that seasoned soldiers would wet themselves trying to imagine.' Jacob felt his symbiote's approval. 'And you know what? I'm gonna try like hell to get him out of there, but I'll trust _him_ to tell me when it's time to go. That's the best I can do for him.' Can you do that, Selmac? Jacob left the question unvoiced, within or without.

'Jacob, my friend. Do you doubt that I have come to care as much about Daniel as you – or perhaps you believe that this bond that we share flows only in one direction?' The symbiote's inner words were warm with emotion.

Jacob let the weight of his soul-deep connection with the being who shared his consciousness soothe the ache in his head and his heart. 'I don't know if I'll ever understand our bond, Selmac, or how I can still be surprised by the stuff in your head – in my head - ' he sighed, 'you know what I mean.'

A familiar dry chuckle echoed in Jacob's skull. 'Yes, because a thousand years of my memories would even fit within your frail human brain,' Selmac sniped tenderly. 'Perhaps some decade you would like to allow me full control of this body so that you can indulge in a short perusal of my misspent youth.'

'That sounds like a story, and a memory that wouldn't leave me feeling like a truck just ran through my cerebellum.' Jacob shook himself from his communion with his symbiote and opened his eyes, his gaze immediately focusing out the front window of the ship on the deceptively quiet space station that held a double handful of Goa'uld, their trusted slaves, and one near-sighted Tau'ri archaeologist. One brave, tough, tenacious near-sighted Tau'ri archaeologist.

"Hang in there, Danny," Jacob murmured. "Just a little while longer."


	5. Chapter 5

Letting Go Chapter 5

Last Stand – Revanna – Trapped Beneath

It didn't make any sense. The weight of the short, cracked column tugged at Sam's muscles, the irregular surface shredding her fingernails and cutting into her hands as she hauled it away from the pile of rubble that had filled the tunnel. Crystals, striated columns, sharp, jagged textures that convinced her that the Tok'ra abhorred all things smooth and cushioned – the secret base on Revanna was hopelessly flimsy, unbelievably vulnerable to random Goa'uld surface bombardment in a way that even the most haphazard Earth fortifications would never be. How could tunnels created through the expansion of artificially grown crystals be reduced to cement-like debris, dust, and dirt in so little time? Shouldn't the expansion of the tunnels themselves have fused the rock above and below it into such a tightly packed mass that nothing short of a naquadah enhanced nuke could make a dent in it? She shook the sweat from her eyes as she grabbed at another hunk of rock.

"He loves you, Major." Sam dropped the stone with a clattering crash, wishing she could drown out the words that kept following her into her forced analysis. Elliot. Lantash. He wouldn't let up, persisted in hammering at her resolve. She tried not to listen, to ignore his wavering voice, but the defeat in his tone, the hopeless, moaning phrases caught at her and she stopped but wouldn't turn to see her pain reflected in his eyes. "It was one of the reasons he was fighting to live," he continued. "He just wanted you to know."

I know, she thought to herself. I know. She forced herself to detached explanation as her hands found purchase on another piece of debris. "The symbiote I carried was Martouf's mate. Martouf and I became close friends because of it." Close friends. Please leave it, Lieutenant, she pleaded to herself, the same confusion of empathy and grief wrapping around her mind and heart. Lantash survived – Martouf was in there somewhere. But Jolinar was gone, and the little spurts of remembered passion only dug her guilt that much deeper.

The stumbling, aching pants behind her kept on. "I'm telling you he loves you… as much as he once loved Jolinar. He regrets what happened… how the host ultimately died."

Motionless, she listened to the words of regret and loss and heard the truth there. Truth she didn't want and couldn't cope with as Elliot lay near death and her teammates were trapped – two rock-filled meters and one impossible light-years away.

"He doesn't want you to feel responsible."

"Okay," she whispered. Martouf – Lantash – absolving her of blame, thinking that his words could in any way release her from the consequences of her actions, no matter how vital, how necessary those actions had been. She'd run from the colonel's admission of – what – caring about her? wanting to protect her? out there in front of Janet and Anise – and slammed back into critical analysis of the situation in the 'gate room through a soldier's eyes, assessed the threats, stormed the room, cutting through the fleeting hesitation she'd seen in the others – Teal'c, Daniel - with professional, impersonal determination. The symbiote wanted to forgive her, she shook her head, and maybe that was all it had been.

All of her frantic attempts to get the Tok'ra to move away from their entrenched positions against healing Martouf's broken body, choosing instead to save the symbiote at all costs, hadn't been about _him_ after all. Maybe she'd needed to hear those words from Martouf's own lips, his warm, familiar, human lips. He'd seen her coming, all soldier-Sam and logical violence, nothing but hard lines and professionalism. She didn't want his last memories of her to be filled with the sight of his murder in her eyes. Ren'Al's words vibrated through her: "what is left of Martouf now lives on in Lantash." She smiled tightly. It wasn't the same. Elliot's lips formed the words, and, even if she could intellectually believe that it was really Lantash who had spoken, her heart didn't believe it.

Something changed in the resonance of Elliot's voice. "It's getting hard to breathe."

She turned and, in the space of one blink, Sam saw only a very young, very human soldier lying broken against the shattered columns. "I know. Hang in there," she offered, before returning to her work. She'd get him out; she had to. The thought of witnessing Martouf's death – again – through a different set of human eyes made her more determined than ever.

Last Stand – The Summit – Trapped Within

Daniel hurried down the space station hallways, thoughts disjointed, the energy that tingled through his nerves dissipating slightly with every awkward footfall or arm flung out to catch his faltering balance. He grimaced and swiped the back of one hand against the beads of sweat tickling at his hairline. Selmac's demands rang harshly in his memory: Find out what you can. Discover more. Anubis must be stopped. The Tok'ra had been so intense, so unwavering – transforming, in an instant, from the familiar humanity of Sam's father into an alien being separated from anything human by vast centuries of experience. It was another reminder of the unbridgeable philosophical divide between Tok'ra and unblended host. To Selmac, the risk was small, just Daniel's life and Sarah's potential release from a lifetime of grotesquely intimate slavery, and any tiny possibility of gathering information to aid the Tok'ra cause outweighed them both. Daniel would risk more to save a friend, even an acquaintance - _had_ risked more, many, many times to help others, to defend Earth. And would risk it all again, without hesitation. But this – this bare-faced, solo-mission, feigning allegiance to monsters while hoping to stumble upon enough information to earn his bus fare back home was beyond him. And, finally, without angst, without self-pity, anger at his own naivety filling his veins with heat, he didn't mind admitting it.

Studying. Talking. Taking diverse images, patterns, and behavior and putting them together to help his team, the SGC, the innocent peoples of the galaxy survive an overwhelming threat was his job, his gift. It was what he'd offered, what they'd accepted from him all those years ago as they edged open the military door to find a place for a distractible, untrained geek at the SGC. A scholar's work, work of the mind, the tongue, and the heart as they slowly hammered him into a shape they could, in good conscience, trust with the safety of his own and others' lives. Daniel looked down at himself. What shape was this? A spy, a mole, a secret weapon honed to lethal sharpness? He shook his head as he lifted trembling hands, twisting them back and forth before his eyes as his mouth twisted up in answering scorn. That description fit as badly as the sleek slave costume Jacob had pressed upon him. Yes, the roles had been pressed upon him – both warrior and slave – but had Daniel refused? His smile widened. No. He'd been so desperate to hang onto his narrowing role within the search for weapons and power among distant friends and the only life that remained to him, that he'd accepted the changes with bowed neck and grasping fingers.

Daniel could do isolated – he'd learned the hard way that being alone helped him focus, helped him reach for successes that the other children, other students, around him were distracted from. And, lately, his solitary existence had become a necessary padding that shielded him from the pangs and pains that were all that was left of close-held friendships. But, for all of his anger, his woundedness at Jack's words, the man's rejection of Daniel's capabilities before this so-called mission got off the ground, Daniel himself had come to recognize that Jack had been right. Yes, he could blend in, speak the language, immerse himself in the role of slave to Yu's Master, and, when it came to looking harmless, inoffensive, just about as not-dangerous as one could get, Daniel Jackson was still a natural. But as an undercover operative, he was woefully unequipped. Jack – the man whose life's work had prepared him to see consequences, to quickly assess the ways even a well-thought-out plan – which this definitely wasn't – could go to hell, had seen it from the beginning.

He frowned, glancing around at the never changing gold corridors, the shadows falling around him in patterns he didn't recognize. Great. He couldn't even sneak around this space station without getting lost. Had he been here before? Wasn't the galley down this hallway to the left? Daniel blinked at a sudden reflection from an oddly shaped basin that stood all alone within an alcove on the right. Dig for information. Find intelligence. He hurried toward it.

Tucked away in a dark niche, a gold-painted ring on the floor its only adornment, the waist-high, free-standing basin was made of some silvery metal that was embossed with a circular design, but it was the raised sculpture that decorated the top that drew a needle of ice down Daniel's back. Caught in poses of writhing, twisting ecstasy or horror, mature Goa'uld symbiotes danced over the basin's surface, guarding whatever lay beneath the rounded lid. He reached out and then drew his hand back as a sinuous shadow slithered within the cold metal. Steeling himself, Daniel shifted the clumsy metal lid so that he could look inside. His mouth fell open in shock. Symbiotes. Wriggling, naked symbiotes, mature neck crests unfurled, the sleek bodies twisting within a warm, clear fluid, brushing against one another, tangling and parting in a revolting dance. Daniel replaced the lid quickly, remembering the way the prehistoric Goa'uld had launched itself out of the lake on Chaka's world straight at his unprotected neck.

Why would the Goa'uld… He stepped back. These mature symbiotes had been removed from their Jaffa incubators and placed here, on this space station. Ready. Waiting. Hidden away, close to the System Lords, but out of sight of their human slaves. He rubbed one hand against his neck, his heart beating hard in his chest. He had to get out of here.

Last Stand – Revanna – Movement

Samantha Carter sat back on her heels, tired, hot, eyes narrowed at her own dizziness. The dust in the air was growing thicker, visible even in the near darkness as it settled across her face and neck. She heard Elliot's strained gasps behind her and lowered her head, wondering what she could offer the young soldier and his unwelcome passenger in these last moments. What hidden, protected parts of herself she could allow him to see. The sound of her radio's crackle, Jack O'Neill's voice loud within the small room, set off a sigh of relief that left her shaking.

"Carter – Carter, if you hear me, respond."

She grabbed at the radio, struggling to keep her voice even. "Sir, we're here," she panted, "the tunnel collapsed – we're trapped."

"Yeah, we noticed that." She smiled to herself, the colonel's quirky understatement diffusing her fears. "Listen – how do we use these crystals to move the walls?" Of course. If the Tok'ra crystals could make tunnels through the solid bedrock of the planet, a few meters of debris would be nothing. She raised her eyebrows at Elliot.

His throat worked noisily. "Each crystal is designed to create a different… section of tunnel…" Sam frowned at Elliot's obvious distress. He was fighting for each breath, fighting through pain and exhaustion to help them find a way out. "Small square ones will… create short… straight openings."

Sam repeated the directions, her own lungs burning. She strained to hear any movement, any whisper of sound from the other side of the rock fall. A moan from Elliot drew her across a floor littered with broken columns and sharp shards of rocks, back to his side to shelter him if the creation of the tunnel touched off any further crumbling in the weak roof of their cave.

Elliot's eyes slid closed as she pressed herself close against him. "If they choose the wrong one… they could collapse the tunnel in on us," he managed to whisper.

Clutching her radio, Sam echoed his warning. "Sir, make sure you use the right crystal – it's perfectly square." She couldn't see, couldn't help. All she could do was trust that, between Teal'c and the colonel, they'd figure it out. And if they didn't…

The strange, squealing sound of tortured rock began to move towards them and Sam felt her lungs expand as a cool breeze of fresh air curled around her. Beneath her hand, Elliot's chest began to move more deeply, smoothly, the rough, jarring gasps turning to strong inhalations. The tunnel opened up before her eyes and she felt the smile on her lips as Teal'c's sturdy bulk and the lean, rangy form of the colonel moved closer. The feeling of her team around her – most of her team, she reminded herself sharply – filled her with renewed energy and she pulled Elliot's arm across her shoulders, shifting her balance so that she could help him stand.

"Thank you," she sighed, settling Elliot's limp weight against her.

The colonel's smile was swift and empty of humor. "You bet - anytime."

She glanced at the jagged walls that surrounded them – they had to get out, there was no guarantee they'd survive another rock fall. "Did you find a Tok'ra communicator?"

O'Neill's thin lips tightened. "No, no we didn't."

Teal'c stood beside him, concentrating on the empty tunnel behind them. "Many Jaffa troops search the tunnels," he murmured, head turning towards her and hooded gaze clearly measuring her ability to drag Elliot through the collapsing Tok'ra base to safety. She straightened her shoulders. "They will be here soon," he added, one raised eyebrow telling her he hadn't missed her unspoken insistence that she could handle it.

"Use the long rectangle." The soft voice originated from the head resting against her shoulder.

Teal'c fumbled in one of his vest pockets and pulled out a violet crystal. She watched, fascinated, as the long, straight tunnel instantly grew from the point where he jabbed the crystal into the rough wall.

"Nice!" The colonel's muttered remark held a trace of his usual sarcastic wit, but the tension in his body and the fire within his dark eyes told Sam that her CO's vision was focused down to a sharp point, and his only motivation was to get his team to safety. And God help any Jaffa who got in his way.

"You should collapse the tunnel behind us," Elliot whimpered as Sam pulled him along, and the echo of Teal'c's staff blast followed her, but the sound was soon overwhelmed by the crashing of rock and crystal that effectively cut off any pursuit. She glanced up sharply as some of Elliot's weight lifted from her aching shoulders, quickly meeting the colonel's sober look across the young airman's bowed head.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Apologies, again, for the horrifying length of time between updates. All I can say is, the muse is finally biting again – and biting hard. Thank you so much for your continued interest in this story, and the wonderful comments you've all left.**

Letting Go Chapter Six

Last Stand – Missing Scene – The Price of Admission

Daniel stopped his unconscious rush down the space station corridor just before the door to Yu's private quarters. He smoothed the thin fabric of the shirt against his chest, trying to slow his breathing. The distracting excess energy that had been with Daniel since he'd taken the Tok'ra stimulants was settling into a background hum along his nerves, but the instinctive desire to put as much distance as possible between himself and that vat of full grown Goa'uld symbiotes still urged him to keep moving, keep walking, _hurry_. He took one slow deep breath and forced his expression back into the subservient neutrality that befitted the lo'taur of a System Lord. He stepped forward, close enough for the sensors to register his presence and for the heavy door to begin its upward movement.

Yu did not look happy.

Standing in the center of the room, the Goa'uld had his small, dark eyes fixed on Daniel, anger and resentment radiating from the stiff posture and tense muscles of his face, his hands invisible within the wide sleeves of his robe. Daniel halted and lowered his head, hands clasped behind his back.

"My Lord, how may I serve you?"

The silence grew within the small chamber and Daniel felt the fine hairs on his neck and arms rise as he waited, hoping the wrath of the System Lord was not directed at him. If Yu suspected, if he had the least hint that Daniel was not who he claimed to be, then his mission was over, and the presence of the Goa'uld symbiotes ensured that soon the System Lords would know everything within Daniel's mind. Hands tucked carefully behind him, too far from the pouch against his waist for quick action, he waited - and waited. Long, torturous moments later the slight scrape of Yu's slipper against the floor seemed as loud as a gunshot and Daniel winced.

The Goa'uld was circling him, slowly. Again and again Daniel caught a glimpse of Yu's robes as he passed before him or paused close beside him, one hand brushing against Daniel unexpectedly, drawing an involuntary shiver down his skin. Other times the silent stalking figure disappeared behind him, or stepped away, out of his narrow field of vision, but then an unexpected touch against Daniel's side or back or the slide of fingers through his hair would reveal Yu's position, and the archaeologist would grind his teeth to keep from jumping away in reaction.

This soundless scrutiny continued until Daniel's nerves were so on edge that he thought with the next touch, the next fleeting brush of robes, he would be unable to stop himself from crying out.

"Kneel before your god."

From behind Daniel's left shoulder, the System Lord spoke quietly, evenly, but Daniel felt the restrained rage, the pure hatred that deepened Yu's echoing voice. Slowly, deliberately moving as non-threateningly as possible, Daniel complied, bending one knee and then the other, his mind struggling to find any scenario where this would not end badly, fatally – or worse. If Yu suspected him, physical violence was guaranteed, but one symbiote burrowing beneath his skin and wrapping itself around his spine would end any resistance. After few moments of futile struggle the Goa'uld would have access to the SGC, the Tok'ra base on Revanna, the Alpha Site – everything. Daniel let out a slow breath and shifted backwards, wondering if he could knock the Goa'uld out and make a run for it. A hand against the back of his neck froze every muscle and he felt his eyes widen in panic.

"You shall make deep obeisance to your god, Jarren. Do not provoke me to punish you," Yu's hand tightened painfully, short nails digging into Daniel's skin, "you would not survive."

Daniel placed his hands together on the floor before him and lowered his forehead to rest against them, back bending beneath the combined intensity of Yu's voice and his strong hand. Jarren. He'd called him Jarren. The masquerade was still in place. Daniel closed his eyes and tried to feel any sense of relief in the knowledge, but Yu's hand was still clamped around his neck and he could feel the Goa'uld's panting breaths against the side of his face.

Suddenly, the fierce grip gentled and fingers stroked against his hair, lingering possessively before Yu moved away and continued his slow pacing around the chamber.

"Very good, my lo'taur, my trusted servant."

There was no sarcasm, no trace of accusation in the words directed towards Daniel, but the anger had not receded. Something else must have triggered the harsh loathing in Yu's tone, or, perhaps _someone _else.

"I have no wish to kill you, to deprive myself of your service. The purity of your worship calms my spirit, relieves me of this desire to unleash the fury of my wrath upon this place, to rip out the hearts of my enemies with my own hands."

Yu's pace was faster now, his words louder, biting, but Daniel felt his own tension easing and listened, hoping for another clue. Information – this is what Jacob wanted, what Selmac demanded before he'd let Daniel escape.

"Anubis returns – bold, arrogant, as if his words could erase the past or his scattered victories could impress me with his strength." Yu spat ancient Chinese curses from his mouth and Daniel heard the crisp sound of breaking porcelain as a vase shattered against the floor, the sharp shards peppering his side. "And Osiris, twice-cursed Kresh'taa that he is, thinks he can talk his way into my confidence. Fool!"

The System Lord turned abruptly – Daniel felt the chill air against his skin. "One death was not enough for Anubis – he reaches out to me from the grave, strangling my honor. This time – this time I will feel his blue blood drip through my fingers, I will tear his flesh with my teeth and swallow down his death as I do with all my enemies!" The pacing continued, the Goa'uld's words tumbling from him in great torrents of darkness. "However he has escaped my vengeance, whatever tricks he has mastered in order to return from oblivion, he shall not cast as much as a shadow across my honor again."

The Goa'uld panted harshly, his steps slowing, but Daniel remained still, trying to think beyond his vulnerable position kneeling, totally exposed, before the System Lord. In the meeting room, Yu had held on, had restrained his rage before the gathered System Lords, hiding the ages-deep wrath that the name of Anubis obviously spawned within him. He'd shuttered himself behind closed doors with only his most trusted slave before the sick vomit of emotions had erupted.

Now they were alone, and Yu could rage and rail and spread destruction without any witnesses to his emotional outburst. The carefully maintained calm was in tatters, and, if Daniel was lucky, the only things broken would be the priceless treasures spread around the room, not the fragile bones of Yu's human servant. Before Yu faced the others, before he could mend his stoic mask, he had to lance the venom, and it would be his lo'taur, Jarren, who would pay the price. There was no sarcophagus secreted among Yu's possessions, but the small, hand-held healing device could knit broken bones and close gaping wounds without leaving a scar. Quickly. Easily. And none of the System Lords would see one visible sign of Yu's mad tantrum when his lo'taur stood beside him within the council chamber. Just another one of the percs of being a 'trusted' servant.

Yu's coarse breathing gradually quieted in the still air, the silence dragging across Daniel's taut nerves. A sigh, the drag of long robes against soft fabric, weight dropping into the cushions of a low bench – Daniel could see the host's body against the darkness behind his eyelids, lowering himself to sit, still carefully watching his servant.

"Rise, Jarren."

The voice was strained but lacked the blazing heat of a few moments ago. Daniel unbent his back, placing the palms of his hands flat against his thighs so that he could get to his feet with an attempt at gracefulness. Forcing himself to stand steady before the Goa'uld, Daniel knew the danger hadn't passed. A cold, controlled Yu might cause more deliberate damage than one consumed by his own anger. He clasped sweaty hands behind his back and straightened his neck, trying to relax his shoulders when his muscles wanted to tighten, to ready himself for whatever was coming.

The System Lord sat stiffly on the red, plush covered bench, one hand resting fitfully on the rolled arm, the other clenched into a fist on his lap. His eyes were half-closed, their dark orbs still glittering, still fastened on Daniel's face, clearly revealing that the Goa'uld's pose of relaxation was a lie.

The bearded chin jerked. "Come."

A few steps brought Daniel to Yu's bended knees.

The fist unclenched enough to point to the floor at his side. "Kneel – here – beside me."

Daniel stifled a sigh. More kneeling. No wonder the Jaffa always knocked SG-1 to their knees whenever they were captured - it seemed to be the universal symbol of abject humiliation and the only human posture that brought a smile to a Goa'uld host's face. His knees were going to end up as bad as Jack's if he managed to survive. Yu's hand against his cheek dug Daniel's mind from its fruitless wanderings.

"Humans are so young; your race so limited by its meager resource for memory." A thumb traced Daniel's cheekbone while the Goa'uld's gaze stabbed into his. "Perhaps this is why your beauty is so… pure. It draws us, compels us to take you – as host or… plaything."

Neither one, please, Daniel pleaded silently when Yu's hand trailed down his neck and he couldn't control the shivering that claimed him – inside and out. The stimulants, he insisted to himself, just the stimulants. This taste in the back of his throat - it wasn't fear. The feral smile that touched Yu's thin lips told Daniel that the hammering of his pulse was palpable beneath the System Lord's searching fingers as they paused on his throat.

"All of my ancestors are alive within me, Jarren; each calls to me, bids me strike out, commands me to wreak the vengeance earned by Anubis and all who would call themselves his allies." Yu tightened his hold until Daniel felt as if a stiff collar had been placed around his neck tethering him to the evil that sat just inches away. "Their voices are loud." Yu's own voice trembled beneath his control.

Daniel's thoughts tumbled, reaching for a place of safety, words that might bring the System Lord back from the brink of his rage - that would keep him from using his lo'taur's body to regain his own composure. The Goa'uld genetic memory – those polluted thoughts and emotions that had boiled up within Shifu's dark dream, uncontainable, wild, untouched by Daniel's deep moral code – Yu had lived lifetimes at those memories' whims. A stab of empathy shot through him.

"My Lord," the words whispered from his narrowed throat, "you are wise and unending. But your servant knows only the memories of this life."

The grip around his neck eased and Yu's eyebrows twitched upward. "Do you seek to understand the Great Lords of the Galaxy, my lo'taur?" The System Lord's hand darted up to clench in Daniel's short hair, tipping his head back. "You live one life – with no memory of the past, no knowledge of your own history that is not written down on fragile pages, painfully learned and studied." Yu's head shook back and forth, fingers now stroking where they had painfully clutched. "Shall I tell you of the past, my slave?"

Daniel swallowed roughly. "As my lord wishes."

A lifetime seemed to pass before Daniel saw the acquiescence in the Goa'uld's eyes. "Very well." Yu straightened, one hand still resting lightly on Daniel's shoulder, his gaze now focused somewhere beyond the gilded walls of the elegant chambers, beyond the metal confines of this space station. Daniel centered his weight on his hips and deliberately calmed his mind, hoping the current crisis was past. Whatever information Yu could give him would get him one step closer to home.

"In the days of the Supreme Lord Ra, when his Queen Hathor ruled by his side, and Osiris and Seth were brothers, the System Lords lived in an uneasy peace broken only by petty squabbles and insignificant conflicts. Ra ruled. Those with ambitions beyond their place were utterly destroyed. And The Lord Yu sat at Ra's right hand." The Goa'uld's hand was heavy against Daniel's shoulder. "And Anubis at his left."

Six years ago, on Ra's ship, Daniel had his first glimpse of the alien beneath the stiff Egyptian mask, the glowing eyes and echoing voice coming from the almost frail, childish figure – he remembered the mix of wonder and terror that had gripped him after he'd woken from his first death within the Goa'uld sarcophagus. Were the empty-eyed children arrayed around him the Supreme Lord's lo'taurs? A deep sadness surged within his soul. Those lives had been lost in the fireball he and Jack had ignited above the Abydos sky.

"Inti, Ahura-Mazda, Cronos, Vishnu, Ceridwen – we ruled at his pleasure, each the overlord of his own territories, receiving tribute and holding those lesser Goa'uld," he sniffed arrogantly, "to their places."

Inti – sun god of the Ancient Inca. Ahura-Mazda – the high deity of Ancient Persia. Cronos – the cold eyed god who'd nearly died on Earth at Nirrti's hand, and then fell to Jack, Sam, and Teal'c and their robot doubles on Juna. A victory for SG-1 – at least for the three warriors who really counted, he reminded himself harshly. Vishnu, one of the three great gods of Hinduism, gaining power and esteem through his various incarnations – Daniel barely held back a snort of derision – the perfect explanation for the many hosts of a Goa'uld. Ceridwen, Welsh sorceress who transformed herself time and again to hunt an enemy who had stolen her power. Mother of the bard and historian Taliesin. Earth's history corrupted at every turn by an alien species that took and took and gave back lies, slavery, and death.

Daniel remained quiet, motionless beneath the hard grip of the System Lord, Yu's fingers unconsciously grinding deep into the muscle of his shoulder as the Goa'uld lost himself within the ancient memories. Yu was right: Daniel had spent his life buried in books with "fragile pages, painfully learned and studied." He'd wasted himself focusing on a history that had been ghost-written by the Goa'uld, and was made up of fairy tales just as Jack had always insisted it was. He focused his gaze on Yu's face, determined to hear the truth for the first time.

"Inti's queen was the first to fall ill, to lose the ability to breed. At her death he removed himself from our midst and, in our arrogance, we pitied him." Yu spit out the word in disgust. "Cronos' brood queen fell next, rebelling against the god her mate, insane in her rage, and died from her own poison." The System Lord's eyes blazed gold. "And still we did not see."

A fire raged in his shoulder now, as Yu's fingers closed against his bones, and Daniel struggled to breathe through the pain.

"The bride of Vishnu died suddenly just as she entered the time of spawning. The god took a new host and lost himself amidst the empty reaches of space. And finally," Yu shook Daniel as a dog would an injured rat caught in his teeth, "finally, I saw. I hid my queen away with my most trusted Jaffa and turned all my kingdom to find the traitor that would kill the most precious of all the Goa'uld."

Daniel saw the grief war with the hot rage on Yu's face. "My lord?" His voice wavered, the pain shaking through him, leaving him defenseless.

The Goa'uld only pressed harder, pulling Daniel's unresisting body towards him, lowering his face until Daniel blinked as the hot spittle splashed against his skin. "But Anubis' foul plan had come too far. He seduced my Lord Ra's Queen from his side, setting her at the head of his armies. And, while my foolish eyes sought him among the battles, while my hands wielded sword and ship at Ra's command, Anubis stole behind my back and destroyed the world where I'd hidden my mate!"

He heard it before the pain lanced through him – the crack of bone followed by the crushing agony as Yu shook him one last time and then threw him down to sprawl at the System Lord's feet. Daniel didn't try to suppress the howl of pain, eyes shut tightly, hand scrabbling against his useless left arm. Yu's words washed over him, incoherent, unrecognizable, the truth of Anubis' death – banishment – _whatever_ – lost in the red veil of throbbing pain that lowered over his mind. He didn't fight the darkness.

The stinging heat woke him. Something glowed on the other side of his closed eyes - a whine just at the edge of his hearing, a hand against the bare skin of his chest, mumbled words in a language he should know. Memories surged, threatening to choke him, and Daniel gasped, struggling to sit.

"Stop."

One word commanded and he stilled, recognizing the hated voice of the System Lord. He let despair fill him up and slumped back into the cushions beneath him. Yu. The Goa'uld Summit. The fucked up mission to destroy the System Lords. Jack's dismissal. Jacob's irritation. The alien haughtiness behind Sarah's eyes.

Yu had crushed his shoulder. And now, by the feel of it, he was using the healing device. Of course. Couldn't have a crippled lo'taur attending him – it wouldn't do to show weakness before his rival System Lords. Daniel choked out a dry laugh but kept his eyes firmly closed. He sure hoped Jacob appreciated all the new intel about Anubis he'd gathered before he passed out.

The sharp pain receded to a dull ache and then to a memory. The glow and the strange humming noise stopped, the hand holding him hard against the bed gentled, stroking circles on his chilled skin.

"You must rise and dress. The Kresh'taa will be here shortly and you will not show weakness before him."

The hand grasped his chin and tilted Daniel's head – his eyes flashed open to see the System Lord seated at his side, his dark eyes having reclaimed the cool control that he'd exhibited before Osiris' proclamation. Yep. A little tantrum, a few broken bones, and the Great Lord Yu seemed to feel all better.

"Rise, Jarren, and attend me."

The Goa'uld swept from the shadowed room, but Daniel laid there a moment, exhaustion weighing down his arms and legs, the frantic energy of the Tok'ra stimulant apparently dispelled by either the towering pain or the heat of the Goa'uld's healing technology. His fingers fumbled at the pouch on his waist, identifying each familiar item with a wave of relief before he tore two more tablets from their paper sleeve and slipped them into his mouth. The tingling sensation told him the pills were working and he struggled to his feet and tugged the thin shirt and the leathery yoke over his skin before he strode out through the thick curtain that separated the sleeping chamber from his master's sitting room.

Osiris was already there.

Last Stand – Osiris and Yu

Lowering his head in a short bow, Daniel swallowed the bile, clenching his teeth against its resurgence, and shuffled towards the ancient tea set that Yu had glanced towards pointedly. His shaking hands measured out tea, laid the bronze kettle atop the heating element, and busied themselves shifting through the food secreted behind the inlaid panels while the Goa'uld settled into chairs and exchanged… pleasantries.

He heard Anubis' name, recognized the loathing still coloring Yu's tone and the arrogance of Sarah's – Osiris'- smooth responses, but the memory of pain and the buzzing along his nerves made him indifferent. It was enough for him to concentrate on the simple tasks of the lo'taur, of serving food and drink to his master, of survival, at least for the moment.

"You take me for a fool."

Yu's disgust pulled Daniel from his thoughts. If Osiris angered Yu, if he drilled through the System Lord's control – again – would Daniel endure another broken bone – or worse – from the Goa'uld's hand? He turned, listening for a return of Yu's uncontrolled rage.

"Please," Osiris soothed, "the Goa'uld have warred with each other since the beginning of time. Anubis has been amassing power so that he might win back your respect."

Daniel grasped the square bowls, steadying his hands carefully, and quickly placed them on the table between the two, bowing jerkily before he turned away.

"He is also no fool," the echoing voice of Sarah Gardner followed him. "He knows that you would not accept him back without need."

Yu's eruption quickened Daniel's steps. "We do not need Anubis!"

"Dissent and disbelief, previously unseen within the ranks of the Jaffa," Osiris explained calmly, "infiltration and subversion by the Tok'ra."

Daniel closed his eyes and willed his hands to stop their damned shaking. Osiris – Anubis – if they suspected the Tok'ra plot…

"And you cannot continue to ignore the threat of the humans on Earth."

He fumbled with the dishes, pouring tiny cups of the bitter tea. What the hell was Osiris implying? The connection between the Tok'ra and Earth – it was too close, too real, that alliance stood beside these two plotting aliens in the body of Daniel Jackson, the pouch that felt so heavy against his waist a slim disguise for the Tok'ra poison.

"How many must die, how many dominions must fall, and how can we continue to claim to be gods if we cannot act like them?"

At his back, Yu remained silent, and Daniel wondered at his expression. Would he hear the subtle hint at conspiracy? Would his eyes be drawn to his loyal lo'taur?

Osiris continued. "The Tau'ri cannot be allowed to triumph again and again."

"The treaty with the Asgard protect their planet."

Daniel remembered Yu's arrogant presence on Earth, the reluctant agreement that the Tau'ri be allowed to keep their Stargate, with the warning that wherever humans met the Goa'uld out in the galaxy, the System Lords would happily destroy them. The Asgard treaty may keep mother ships from Earth's orbit, but it did little to guard the SG teams who stepped through the 'gate, and absolutely nothing to protect one human posing as a servant within the ranks of the System Lords themselves.

"_From the System Lords_," Osiris drawled wryly.

"Who must impose the treaty on all Goa'uld," Yu snapped back as if lecturing a wayward child.

Osiris laughed. "But not from one who's been dead for a thousand years."

So, that was the plan, Daniel sighed. No exposure of the Tok'ra/Earth alliance that threatened the very Summit where the Goa'uld sat so calmly, discussing the humans' fate. No revelation of the presence of one Tau'ri, ally of the Tok'ra, carrying a Tok'ra communicator and a vial of symbiote poison around right under their noses. No, it was a pledge from the outcast Anubis, a promise to take care of the one enemy that continued to be a thorn in the side of the Goa'uld without any interference from those pesky Asgard who believed in only the letter of the law.

"What do you propose," Yu asked, clearly interested in Osiris' proposition.

The Goa'uld wearing Sarah's skin waited, obviously relishing the question and the curiosity he'd provoked within the oldest System Lord. "Accept my vote on behalf of Anubis, and before he resumes his position amongst you he will destroy Earth."

Destroying Earth – the price of admission back into the inner circle of the System Lords. If Yu agreed, if he balanced the weight of his cooling hatred of Anubis against the victory of the Goa'uld over Earth – Daniel laughed silently to himself as the stimulants surged through his body. Well, he couldn't let that happen, could he? He couldn't let Osiris convince Yu that Anubis could be trusted. After his outburst, Yu had settled back into his familiar logic and restraint, and Osiris' well chosen words might be enough to sway him.

No, Daniel couldn't allow it. Even if it cost a body full of broken bones, even if his blood decorated the walls of this space station… He'd heal. He glanced back towards the two Goa'uld, watching Yu's silent deliberation. When Osiris left, it would be up to Daniel to remind Yu of his past, of the loss of his mate, his queen. To eliminate any chance for alliance between these two powerful enemies, and to ignite the rage within the ancient System Lord once again. He could do that; Daniel was good with words. And it wouldn't even scar.

Last Stand – Missing Scene – No Scars

Daniel fell to his hands and knees, head hanging, and coughed blood out onto the once pristine floor of Yu's quarters. Another blow fell against his side and he felt his ribs crack, the stab of pain in his chest partnering with the sudden pressure to steal his breath. A hand clutched in his hair pulled him upright and he opened the eye not flooded with blood to stare into Yu's face, eyes flashing, lips white with rage.

"Do not dare to speak of her! Hassak!"

He was thrown to the floor, choking on blood, barely seeing Yu straddle his body, barely feeling hands closing around his throat.

"I will never forget her, never seek empty promises from her murderer!"

The words sounded tinny, floating away into the darkness. See, Jack - Jacob? Maybe Daniel Jackson was no good as a killer, as a hard-ass special ops type. Consciousness receded. But he could bleed, he could break, he thought, smiling to himself. He was good at that.


	7. Chapter 7

Letting Go Chapter 7

Last Stand – Revanna's Ruins

The immature symbiote within his belly pouch twisted and squirmed, echoing the unease of Teal'c's own thoughts. From the ill-conception of this mission, from the insistence on Daniel Jackson's departure with the Tok'ra blended human Jacob Carter, he had feared for his young friend. And now, after the brutal deaths of so many Tok'ra and the men of SG-17, and with the Jaffa of two Goa'uld stalking the collapsing tunnels, Teal'c believed that the hurried decisions that brought them to this place beneath the sands might well be the end of every member of SG-1.

He'd watched through narrowed eyes as O'Neill shared the last of his water with Lieutenant Elliot. He'd seen the pale concern on Major Carter's bloodied face, and he'd heard the gasping breaths of the wounded human/Tok'ra at his side. As Daniel Jackson met his own fate among the false gods, so his teammates could not avoid theirs at the hand of the same enemy. This trap had been well sprung.

The last Jaffa patrol had been dealt with some time ago and the tunnels again collapsed behind the fleeing team. His own symbiote would sustain him long after the others had died of thirst, or lack of oxygen, or wounds not yet suffered. And by the weight that dragged against his left shoulder, Elliot and Lantash would be the first to succumb. Facing certain capture and torture by the evil that had enslaved his people for centuries or a quick death in battle among these, his adopted people, Teal'c knew what his choice would be.

But, what of Daniel Jackson? If he yet lived, if he still remained himself, not lost to the rape of a Goa'uld symbiote nor the rape of his spirit through his ordeal among them – if he, somehow, returned to the ruins of Revanna to search for his friends, Teal'c would not allow young brother to find only the dead. No matter the cost, no matter his own intentions to die free, he would not leave Daniel Jackson alone.

"How many more of those things do we have?"

It was O'Neill's voice behind him, and Teal'c heard the exhaustion underlying the evenness of the human's tone. The Tok'ra crystals that fueled this endless flight were dwindling, and the strategist within O'Neill sought an escape for his people. An escape that Teal'c could not supply.

"Six," he replied simply.

"We can't stay down here forever, we're out of water." Major Carter had also seen the last few drops of the precious liquid disappear between Lieutenant Elliot's dry lips. But, while the surface might grant a temporary relief, it would not free them from the pursuit of the Jaffa.

Teal'c would not deceive his friends. "The Jaffa will not rest until they have found us."

"Why do you say that?" Was it true disbelief that colored O'Neill's tone or the unwillingness to admit defeat among those in his charge?

"If their intent was simply to kill the Tok'ra, then they have weapons that could have destroyed this facility from space." He and O'Neill and the doomed Tok'ra Aldwin had seen the landed ships with their own eyes, as well as the squads of Jaffa sent out into the tunnels. "Their tactics of using ground troops suggest that they are looking for something." There was no doubt that the Goa'uld knew of the Tok'ra poison and sought it with little regard for the number of soldiers who fell in its pursuit. Again his thoughts journeyed to his youngest friend. The Goa'uld knew of the poison, knew of the Tok'ra's plans. It was unlikely that Daniel Jackson still survived.

"The poison." Major Carter had come to the same conclusion, it seemed.

Teal'c heard the symbiote's words stutter from Elliot's mouth. "We can't let them have it. If it comes down to it, we'll have to destroy the crystal that contains the formula."

The Jaffa frowned. If Daniel Jackson had fallen before his mission was completed, the Goa'uld would already have the poison. Calculating the distance to the Goa'uld summit with the difficulty of maintaining communications among outlying troops, he evaluated the likelihood of the recall of the ground assault. No. It did not matter. Even if the poison was now in the hands of the System Lords, they could not allow any surviving Tok'ra or Tau'ri access to the recipe for a poison that could, once again, be used against Goa'uld symbiotes. The continued attack was not proof of Daniel Jackson's life.

O'Neill remained stalwart. "C'mon, they've got to stop looking for us eventually."

Teal'c honored him for his fortitude, for his resilience before an always superior foe. But the truth must be said. "Even if they do stop searching, they will never leave the Stargate unguarded."

"Well, Jacob and Daniel will be back sooner or later."

Ah, O'Neill. Your guilt demands that Daniel Jackson survive no matter the evidence of your reason. Teal'c would not end his brother's desperate hope.

Elliot's body stirred again. "The Tok'ra will broadcast an alert telling them to stay away. They will assume that we died along with the other Tok'ra."

Lantash's blunt words did not dim the gleam of assurance within O'Neill's dark eyes.

"Maybe," the human insisted curtly.

Major Carter's gaze returned only despair. "Well without any way of communicating with them, how will they find us?"

Teal'c saw the determined shake of O'Neill's grey head and the deep lines of worry on his forehead. "Let's keep moving," he finally ordered, clearly unwilling to hear the voices of defeat that echoed from the tunnel walls. His brother – the man who had convinced the First Prime of Apophis to abandon his god with only his unyielding attitude and his few words – would not admit hope was lost, for them or for his missing friend, until the last breath left his body.

Teal'c tightened his grasp on Elliot's weak body and followed him into the dark.

Last Stand – Extended Scene – Daniel's Risk

It was amazing what the human mind could withstand. Daniel blinked wearily into the muted light of the shadowy bedchamber, carefully stretching each limb, searching for the pain that his mind insisted should greet his movements. He brought one hand up to his face to probe what he remembered was a broken cheekbone and felt the smooth, intact bone under his fingers, wiggled those fingers before what he knew had been a blinded eye and felt his lips twitch into a bleak smile. Whole again. Healed again.

He spied the healing device on the table near his head, gaze caught by the dried smear of blood that darkened the gold handle. The System Lord's broad face showed no sign of regret when he'd ordered 'Jarren' to follow him to the council chamber. Yu had repaired his broken toy and now demanded that it dance for him. Again. But Daniel's mind insisted that he was still far from well – reminded him with memories of pain and phantom aches that lingered in his nerves and muscles.

This time, waking from the restless darkness that swam with snake-like images and echoed with the snapping of his own bones, Daniel's mind seemed to have abandoned fear and embraced anger. It sizzled along his nerves where the Tok'ra stimulant had once quickened him, it warmed the bare skin of his chest and arms, and it pushed him to his feet and steadied him when the remembered pain tried to seize him with a fit of trembling.

Osiris – Sarah – he'd let the two become muddled in his mind. It was time to fix that. She was right there, within his grasp, and Jacob had a handy cargo ship waiting nearby to get her back to Revanna where the Tok'ra could rip the symbiote from the woman's body. Maybe Daniel couldn't kill the System Lords, couldn't fulfill the mission that had sent him out here. But, no matter what Jacob or Selmac or the SGC wanted, Daniel had another mission now.

Donning his slave attire – again – adjusting the tight cuffs that bore Yu's mark, Daniel grabbed the Tok'ra communicator from its pouch and hurried out into the corridor. A plan had been born within his mind sometime during his last beating at Yu's hands, and this time he'd make Jacob listen. He'd had enough of following orders as if were truly a meek, subservient minion – the clothes he'd been forced to wear, the poses of humility he'd assumed, they were simply a disguise. And it was time to remind Jacob and Selmac that Daniel Jackson had fully earned his designation as the most stubborn man on Earth.

After years of working with the SGC he'd learned enough from the military men and women who crowded Cheyenne Mountain to know that it was the operative in the field who must make the split-second decisions, in whose hands life and death and the failure or success of his mission was ultimately held. Plan B – or letters much farther down the alphabet – often came into play with SG-1. Daniel gritted his teeth against a deep yearning for his team, for the days when every voice was heard, every scenario considered, when Jack had actually sought out Daniel's non-military, out-of-the-logic-box insights. A wave of dizziness made him stumble, but Daniel straightened his back and recovered just as another lo'taur passed, eying him with clear disdain. He shook off the weakness, the echo of pain in his chest, and brought the communicator to his mouth.

"Jacob."

"Yeah, go ahead."

Daniel winced at the volume of the Tok'ra's voice and hurriedly checked the corridor ahead. "They're going to vote on whether to accept Anubis back," he muttered quietly. "Apparently he has a plan to attack Earth."

"Did you get any details?"

Details? No, Jacob, Daniel thought to himself. A comprehensive battle plan was a little too much to expect. "Osiris didn't say." Osiris – Sarah – bringing her back with them made strategic sense. She – he – was within Anubis' inner circle and might have the intel that the Tok'ra was looking for. Daniel didn't have to stay on this space station to get Jacob's answers. And getting away from here with Sarah, without being snaked or beaten again or exposed as a spy was very high on Daniel's agenda right now.

"Hey, here's a question for you," Daniel began, "why do you think the Goa'uld are allowing their human slaves to hear everything that's going on?"

"I'm not sure."

Daniel narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the hesitation in Jacob's voice.

"The truth is we suspected they were going to kill the slaves when the summit was done," the Tok'ra admitted.

Well that made sense. Daniel pressed one hand to his side, wondering when the memory of pain there would disappear. If all the System Lords – self-styled gods - treated their 'most trusted slaves' as personal property, as toys and pets and punching bags – or worse - the way Yu did, then using them up and then disposing of them afterward was a simple yet elegant solution. Disposable humans. There were plenty more where they came from.

His anger spiked. "And you didn't think that was important enough to tell me?" Dammit. More secrets. More questions that were never asked let alone answered.

"Not considering that you were going to kill all the Goa'ulds," Jacob rejoined quickly.

"I'm not doing that anymore," Daniel snarled. He needed time. Time to get Sarah alone. Time to maneuver her into a place where her superior strength wouldn't kill him before he could get them both to Jacob.

"True. What's your point?" the Tok'ra asked.

His point – _his point? _Daniel swallowed the knee-jerk reaction to curse Jacob Carter and Selmac and all Tok'ra in every language he knew. His point was that now Daniel had to find a way to delay the completion of the summit long enough to _survive_. Where was the almost parental concern that Jacob had shown during their journey in the cargo ship? Now it seemed that Jacob was bored with this discussion, with the thought that, if Daniel didn't use the symbiote poison, he and all the other humans on the space station were going to be killed. If the vote was cast and the Goa'uld…

Daniel closed his eyes, the sudden memory of the sinuous slide of reptilian bodies within a silver tank gagging him, clenching his stomach into knots.

He forced slow, shallow breaths before he spoke. "There's a big vat of live symbiotes here."

The silence between them grew and, within his mind, Daniel dared the Tok'ra to ask again about his '_point_.'

"So they're not planning on killing the slaves after all."

"No, not by the looks of it," Daniel agreed dryly. Those symbiotes needed hosts, and there was a captive audience right here of fit and able humans hand selected by the System Lords.

"Get to the shield generator and shut it down, I'll get you out of there," Jacob ordered.

Daniel found himself grinning at the irony. Pain, death, humiliation – yeah, these were acceptable risks. After all, if Daniel simply died the Goa'uld might never know about the Tok'ra plot. They wouldn't have access to information about Earth or Revanna or symbiote poison. One life just didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, isn't that what he'd decided when Jacob refused to consider saving Sarah? Saving that one life? But Daniel Jackson taken as a host, well, that, apparently, changed everything. Jacob wouldn't risk that.

Well, Daniel would. "Not yet."

"Daniel if you're caught and that poison falls into the wrong hands…"

Yep. Got it. The safety of the mission was the first priority, with human life falling far down on the scale. But if being taken as a host was worse than death, and Daniel admitted that he believed that, too, then leaving Sarah at the mercy of her Goa'uld was equally reprehensible. The risk was his to take, and so the decision his to make. End of argument.

He heard footsteps – someone was coming. "I won't get caught," Daniel whispered into the communicator. He twisted the switch to 'off' and quickly placed the device in his pouch, lowering his head as the female lo'taur paused to stare at him.

Yu was waiting for his slave. And, somewhere deep within the prison cell of her own body, Sarah was waiting for rescue. Daniel wiped the thin layer of sweat from his upper lip and focused on placing one foot in front of the other.


	8. Chapter 8

Letting Go Chapter 8

Last Stand – Allies and Enemies

Apparently, treaty negotiations were the same all over the galaxy. Daniel tried to keep his features set into a neutral mask, entirely uninterested in the discussion, arguments, obvious attempts at deceit and maneuverings for position, the slurs and snarls and thinly veiled threats that were shouted or drawled across the Goa'uld council chamber. He tried to blink some moisture into his eyes, but the awkward contact lenses seemed to have fused to his corneas, feeling as if they'd been stuck there by a layer of sand and glue. He carefully retrieved the empty cup from Yu's casually extended hand and smothered a sigh. It was amazing how a person could waver between distress, abject terror, anger, hate, disgust, sorrow, resentment, and resignation within just a few sleepless days, even more surprising that now, hiding in plain sight within a roomful of evil aliens, that the emotion Daniel was experiencing most was boredom.

Daniel could credit most of that to exhaustion. The constant wearying tension of maintaining his false identity within this small space station crowded with enemies drained him dry, and he knew his mind was becoming just as fatigued as his body. Thoughts circled endlessly, possibilities and plans climbing over each other, leading him down dusty, dead end corridors and into unknowable futures with unguessable consequences. Sometime soon the sleepless nights before the mission, the days of on-edge, wired action – with more to come – plus the fall out of the dependence on the Tok'ra stimulants would drop him fast. But he couldn't crash yet - he just hoped he'd be in a safe place when he could fall back into his own body, his own identity as Daniel Jackson, and leave Jarren behind.

His anger continued to guide him, festering in the background, silencing the familiar voices within his mind that still second guessed him, that urged him to abandon this hopeless, irrational mission that endangered the Tok'ra plan – the military plan – in favor of Sarah's rescue from the torture of the Goa'uld. But, even resolving himself to a fierce rejection of any more interference from the former Air Force general who sat safely in a cloaked ship in distant space, the anger couldn't rage hot enough to steady his feet. After stifling his third yawn, Daniel had been forced to swallow another of the few remaining stimulants. Gratitude towards Jacob Carter and Selmac didn't come easily right now, but at least the Tok'ra had provided a way to stay awake.

He didn't know how the other lo'taurs were managing – maybe they had access to the same kinds of resources – but the System Lords certainly weren't making any allowances for the unblended humans who served them: no pauses for rest, no meal breaks, night, day, morning or evening were all the same within the space station. He sighed silently. The other lo'taurs were probably used to this kind of pace, or had been taught their roles in the same brutal manner that Yu had used with Daniel and so did everything they could to avoid repeated reminders. And, Daniel snorted softly to himself, as awful and degrading as their positions were, at least the other humans didn't have the additional pressure of being an intergalactic superspy.

The Goa'uld sat placidly on their thrones, dissecting each others' authority, mocking each others' words, rehashing what must have been old arguments that had never been resolved. Osiris sat calmly across from Yu, watching the others posture and debate through slitted eyes, a contemptuous half-smirk plain on Sarah's face. Yu also contributed little, hands hidden in the wide sleeves of his robe. When Daniel had entered the council chamber and taken his place at the System Lord's side, the Goa'uld had paused a moment to scrutinize his lo'taur's face, his hooded gaze lingering on Daniel's now unmarked throat, his pale, unbroken skin, and the clear blue of eyes not filled with blood, turning his attention back to the on-going discussion without a word.

Pros and cons, demands and considerations – cycles of the same recriminations and blame echoed in the circular chamber for hours. In one unexpected moment of silence, Ba'al raised both hands, a question in his dark eyes, and met the stares of each member of the fragile alliance. Daniel watched as the Goa'uld's slender lo'taur moved closer to his master, his face expectant, and found himself taking up a similar stance at Yu's side. Something was about to happen.

"Who among us accepts the return of Anubis to the System Lords?" Ba'al thundered. He clasped his hands before his face and nodded.

Daniel watched as each System Lord voted – a simple nod, a tight bow, one hand fisted into another, or arms crossed over an armored chest acknowledging each one's acceptance of Anubis, and of Osiris, his mouthpiece. Beside him, Yu was stone. Unyielding. Unmoving. Daniel felt the tension rise and sweat trickle down his back, his palms wet where his hands hung at his sides. He'd put himself in Yu's path, he'd urged the grieving, enraged Goa'uld to remember his dead queen, pushed him to focus on the past sins of Anubis and his oath for vengeance. Daniel pressed one hand against his side, remembering the explosion of pain as his ribs had broken with one swing of the Goa'uld's fist. If Yu voted yes – if everything Daniel did had been for nothing – if the vote was over and the attack on Earth begun…

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Yu's flat, emotionless face, and the slightest movement of his head back and forth. No. He'd voted no. Daniel felt weak with relief.

Ba'al's eyebrows twitched in faint surprise. "The vote need not be unanimous," he observed dryly.

What? Daniel's gaze flickered between Osiris' complacent grin and Ba'al's obvious indifference. He felt his eyes widen, his heart rate soar. If Yu's vote wasn't enough… but he was the oldest System Lord… Daniel had assumed … He tried to rein in his fear but the bright colors of the gaudy costumes and décor seemed to leach away into black and white and he felt his vision blurring, muscles loosening, breath clogging in his lungs.

"By a count of six to one Anubis is awarded the status System Lord and welcomed back among those that lead the Goa'uld. Osiris will be allowed to vote on his behalf."

Ba'al's words swept over Daniel in a rush of sound and he locked his knees, stiffening his spine and grittily blinking the council chamber back into focus. This wasn't over – it couldn't be over. Would Osiris initiate an attack on Earth now, and the System Lords each return to his territory secure in the knowledge that, with Anubis' acceptance, he would cease attacking his fellow Goa'uld and would turn his ships and troops onto the Tau'ri? He steadied himself, grinding his teeth together and hoping to force some reason into his stampeding thoughts.

Daniel stared, and, directly across from him, Osiris smiled sweetly and met his gaze. "You shall not regret this," the Goa'uld promised.

"May we rule forever," Ba'al intoned, the words an obvious ritual.

Daniel breathed slowly and evenly, the rush of awareness returning, colors bright and glaring again against his tired eyes. He swallowed in a dry throat, expecting the gathered Goa'uld to sweep out through the doors, taking his only chance to save Sarah, to get to Jacob and back to Earth with the warning, with them.

Olokun's reverberating voice nearly made him flinch. "There is much to discuss in that regard."

Much to discuss? More to the summit? Daniel lifted his chin at the release of tension. Okay. Good. He flicked a glance at Osiris. This vote had been a warning – he had to hurry, had to finalize his hazy plans quickly. He had no idea what the time frame of this summit might be – and, very probably, Jacob didn't either. Get in, use the poison, get out – that had been the original plan. And Daniel knew by now that the Tok'ra rarely considered a Plan B, so he doubted any further intelligence had been gathered.

"But first," Kali's unfinished exclamation interrupted his train of thought and Daniel noticed the unmistakable rush of exhilaration that flashed through the room. The Goa'uld all sat forward on their thrones; feral grins alight on their faces. Yu was pale, the only one not vibrating with anticipation.

Ba'al raised his hands again, the same arousal clear in his dark eyes. "Lo kor harek. Shal mel."

That didn't… Daniel ran the words through his mind. Harek? Enemy? Shal mel sounded like the idiomatic start to a toast of some kind. Some kind of slang concerning the overcoming of enemies, or saluting those who were former enemies? He stood carefully still as the room darkened and the telltale sound of ring transporters filled the air.

The grunt was pulled out of him unconsciously as the rings rose and the metal vat was revealed. The metal vat decorated with carvings of writhing symbiotes. The metal vat that contained mature Goa'uld just waiting for hosts. Looked like time was up.

Ba'al moved first, circling the basin silently. The others stood, one by one, to follow him, taking their places close against the metal vat's sides. Their eyes glittered as they stood, their backs to the shadowed room filled with waiting human slaves, the Goa'uld's faces turned hungrily towards the serpentine bodies that thrashed and struggled against each other. Osiris was the last to rise and stood at Ba'al's left hand, her tall, thin figure rigid with impatience, with an air of absolute yearning that Daniel had never seen on Sarah' face.

Slowly pulling up one of his full sleeves, Ba'al reached into the basin and snatched a symbiote from the writhing mass, holding it in both hands before him, watching its struggles, his face a victorious mask, his grin dark with triumph. Daniel grabbed at the pouch on his waist. He could kill them all – every last symbiote in this room and, with their deaths, their hosts. Sarah would die. The other hosts would die. These symbiotes would never take another human to use as a puppet, a slave. Maybe saving Sarah was a pipedream. Maybe, now, death was the only choice.

Osiris and the others reached in and took a symbiote and watched it squirm and squeal in their hands. To his right, Ba'al's lo'taur turned his head and Daniel felt the lean man's gaze rest on him. He frowned, trying to swallow an overwhelming surge of nausea at the scene before him as he kept his hand at his side, away from the lo'taur's prying eyes. Ba'al's slave – all the other slaves – none of them were reacting; there were no moans of dismay, no panic, no desperate flights to freedom.

It happened all at once. Daniel felt his mind blank out as Osiris, Yu, Bastet – all of them – bared their teeth and ripped into the flesh of the squirming symbiotes. They tore them in half, blue blood dripping down the carcasses, and threw the heads, still twisting, onto the council room floor. Teeth flashing, tongues lapping up the jutting fluids, the Goa'uld ate, cannibalized, the unblended symbiotes, savoring every taste of flesh, every swallow, their eyes glowing gold, heads thrust back and voices raised in proud, conquering cries and shouts. They licked their fingers, breathing hard and fast as if they were drugged.

Daniel blinked quickly, trying to understand. The System Lords weren't turning their slaves into hosts, they were devouring symbiotes. Eating other Goa'uld. He slid the poison capsule back into his pouch. Yu had said something about Anubis, about wreaking final vengeance on his age-old enemy.

"… _I will feel his blue blood drip through my fingers, I will tear his flesh with my teeth and swallow down his death as I do with all my enemies!"_

What happened to a Goa'uld when he'd been conquered by another? Seth hid himself on Earth. Osiris and Isis had been placed in canopic jars and tossed away. Hathor was buried alive in a sarcophagus. And Sokar had tortured Apophis for months before banishing him to Netu. But these Goa'uld, the System Lords, they'd captured their enemies and literally fed on their corpses.

He stumbled backward a step as the Goa'uld, as one, turned to face their lo'taurs. Daniel was caught in Yu's fierce, black stare, unable to move, unable to even glance away. Beside him, he knew the other slaves stood anxiously waiting, ready for this reaction. Daniel felt his heart hammering as Yu drew closer, moving silently, sinuously towards him, hands finally reaching out to grasp Daniel's face, never pausing as he crowded against his body.

The same words reverberated throughout the council chamber; the Goa'uld's doubled voices loud, insistent, irresistible:

"Chosen One, taste the death of those who would challenge your god!"

Yu's mouth smashed into Daniel's, tongue driving between his lips. The revolting parody of a kiss lasted a lifetime, Daniel wrestling with his reflex to gag and vomit all over his 'god', until, finally, Yu pulled back, swiped one thumb dispassionately over the moisture on Daniel's chin and withdrew to his throne, coolly straightening his robes. The other Goa'uld mirrored his movements and Daniel held tightly to his vanishing dignity, watching the flushed, worshipping expressions on the lo'taur's faces with a sick disgust.

'Chosen One,' he mentally snarled, 'beloved one.' This act wasn't sexual in any sense of the word – what the Goa'uld had just done was brand another stamp of ownership onto their pet humans; it was a show of total control and domination over both their enemies and their slaves. And the lo'taurs – Daniel felt a deep cold within his belly as he watched their adoring faces, so very grateful for this 'honor' their masters had bestowed upon them – the lo'taurs were as thoroughly subjugated as any human host. The System Lords' personal slaves were stuck deep in the throes of Stockholm syndrome, so desperate for their gods' least attention that this… this constant demeaning abuse was taken as loving, tender affection. No. No one should have to live like this.

The servants were collecting dishes and cups and moving towards the door and Daniel hurried to imitate them. As he passed Osiris' chair near the open hallway, a sudden thought struck him. He was tied to Sarah, to their past relationship and to her present horror in the Goa'uld's grip. It was another personal loss, a personal failure that had reminded him of all those others he couldn't save. He caught the gaze of Ba'al's lo'taur as he turned and fell in at his side. Didn't these human slaves deserve rescue as well?

Daniel's grip on the bronze cup tightened. He couldn't use the symbiote poison because that would leave Anubis with unchallenged reign in the galaxy – and because it would kill Sarah. But, if he didn't destroy these Goa'uld, all these slaves – and millions more under the System Lords' yoke within their sovereign territories, would have no hope. Slaves, Jaffa, hosts – they all lived out their lives under cruel oppression, their every breath dictated by fragile, snake-like beings that would be helpless without them.

The stoic face of his most unlikely friend came to mind – a Jaffa, a warrior, the one who had chosen his wife as Apophis and Amaunet's plaything. With Teal'c's rebellion and the whispered words of Jaffa on a hundred worlds, he and Bra'tac had begun to whittle away at the bone-deep loyalty of the Goa'uld's armies. Daniel fastened his stare on the slim back of the lo'taur in front of him. Teal'c, Bra'tac and the others had destroyed their gods, had fought and won the respect of other Jaffa. Maybe Daniel Jackson couldn't fire a staff weapon or explode a bomb or release a deadly toxin within this gathering, but he could use the weapons that came much more readily to his hand, weapons he was trained to wield from his youth. Words – he could use words.

Daniel reached deep within him for the strength he'd need to see this to the end, to endure whatever else he had to, whatever indignity or humiliation, pain or weariness. Saving Sarah and her knowledge of Anubis' plans – yes, that was still his ultimate goal. But if, in the meantime, he could open the mind of just one of the System Lord's personal slaves, if he could nurture the idea that, perhaps, these slavering, posturing, petty beings were not gods at all, then maybe another rebellion would someday sweep through the galaxy, and the humans oppressed by evil would rise up as the ancient Egyptians on Earth did so long ago. He swallowed a wave of sorrow. He couldn't save Sha're – he'd been too complacent, too weak for that. But, because of a tiny seed of doubt and the people's courage, the Abydonians had won their freedom from the Supreme System Lord. Daniel paced wearily at Ba'al's lo'taur's side. If there was the least possibility, if what happened on Abydos could happen within another System Lord's subjected masses… he shook his head. He had to try.

Last Stand – Plans and Consequences

The darkness of the collapsed Tok'ra tunnels seemed to be leaching into Jack's soul. Another few hundred yards, another crystal used up and no daylight to be seen. Frustration, the urge to get somewhere, to find the enemy and engage, fight, go through or around or over them and get his men – what was left of them – to safety charged through him leaving him wired with neither the choice to fight or flee. The dregs of SG-1, towing Elliot behind them - were burrowing under the surface like a pack of prairie dogs too frightened to lift their heads. He glanced at Elliot's slack face, the way he was draped over Teal'c's shoulder like a limp fatigue-green cloak. Whatever favors the snake thought he was doing the kid when Lantash slithered into his body – if he wasn't just looking for a warm body to curl up in and hide, Jack snorted – it hadn't worked. Elliot was dying. Every slide of his feet through the dust coating the floor of the tunnels, every snatched breath told Jack that, without one major minor miracle, the last member of SG-17 wouldn't make it.

At least it had been quiet for a while. No more great big rocks falling on their heads from Goa'uld strikes, no more staff weapon fire. But this stupid, heedless wandering in the dark had to stop – he needed to pull his head out of his ass, think his way out of this maze and get his team back through the Stargate. He didn't let his mind dwell on the concept that there was one member of his team that no 'thinking' on his part could bring to safety. Daniel was okay. He was with Jacob and he was okay. He had to be.

He stepped towards his teammate and tugged on the sleeve of Teal'c's jacket. "Hey, big guy, time for a rest."

The large Jaffa's gentleness always amazed him. Teal'c's hands were the clichéd deadly weapons, big, ham sized mitts that could slap a man flat or pulverize a jaw with one punch. But, with the weak, or helpless, or injured, or especially with one particularly valuable archaeologist, Teal'c could out-soothe the best of Janet's nurses. Valuable. Jack stifled the surge of self-loathing that tried to take over when he connected that word with Daniel's current mission. No time for that.

Once Elliot had been lowered into Carter's waiting hands, Jack beckoned Teal'c to his side. "He's not doing too well," he said, jerking his chin towards the young airman. The major was fussing, but there was nothing left to do.

"No."

Short and not so sweet. Jack twitched an eyebrow towards the Jaffa's stoic face before turning to meet Carter's eyes. The bleak despair there told him everything he needed to know.

"Check our six, T, make sure we don't have any uninvited company coming to the party."

The big man moved away and Jack allowed himself a sigh, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Ragged breaths dragged through the dank, stale air of the tunnels and he blinked his eyes open to peer through the gloom.

"We need to get to the surface, Carter. Any kind of escape plan, any kind of rescue is gonna come from there."

"Yes, sir."

Her tone made it clear that it was an acknowledgement of his comment, not an agreement.

"Look," he started grimly, "it's not an option, Carter. We're getting off this rock."

"Sir, without communicators, I don't see how…"

"Hey!" Jack took a step towards her. "Now is not the time to point out all the obvious flaws in my brilliant plan," he but some snarl into his voice. "Aim high, Major, isn't that what the Air Force teaches us? So," he made a plane out of his hand and flew it upwards. "Sunlight, cool breezes, and fresh, flowing water, so up we go."

He watched a familiar tightening in the corners of her eyes, her gaze suddenly blanking out, probably seeing equations and… stuff … that Jack wouldn't understand. Finally. Need some help from the brains of this outfit, Major, not more fatalistic crap.

"What?" he demanded.

She tilted her head to one side. "Communicators, sir. A little while ago Lantash mentioned that the Tok'ra would be broadcasting an alert – a message warning any approaching ships to stay away."

"Yes," Jack agreed. He could agree – he was agreeable. "And?" Come on, spill it, Carter.

"Well, they'd need some source for their broadcast on the surface so that it could carry into deep space." Elliot coughed and she dropped her head, easing the limp figure back to lean against the sharp surface of the Tok'ra tunnel.

Some kind of broadcast device, sending a signal strong enough to reach out into space. Maybe Carter could rig it – jogging footsteps echoing from the tunnel walls jumped Jack's hands automatically towards his weapon. Recognizing Teal'c through the gloom, he let out a breath.

"There does not appear to be any Jaffa currently pursuing us."

Good news and more good news. "Good. And we haven't heard bombers in a while," Jack added, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "Let's try the surface."

Carter tried to get Elliot's attention. "Elliot, do you hear me?"

Pale fingers against his pale cheek turned his face, but Jack frowned at the image. Two young, vigorous minds, heads bent together, too lifeless, too ashen for comfort. Even if one wasn't the shaggy brown head from his memory, Jack's gut twisted at the sight.

"How do we use the crystals to tunnel up to the surface?" she asked.

Jack waited, wondering if the kid was too far gone to answer. He was breathing in sharp pants through his mouth, a line of drool drying on his chin. His eyes – so electric, so full of piss and vinegar back in the 'gate room – were barely open, dim, flat.

"… surface…" he muttered, his head lolling to one side.

"Yeah, we want to go up there and get some water," the major explained gently, glancing up at Jack anxiously.

"Diamond," Elliot finally gasped.

The kid was a fighter, Jack acknowledged ruefully as Teal'c searched his pockets for the last few Tok'ra crystals. Two blue-green crystals were tipped in what looked like diamond shapes. Jack shrugged at Teal'c's unasked question and gestured towards the tunnel. Try one. If it didn't work, try the other. What else could they do?

Carter leaned closer to the young airman. "You said the Tok'ra are probably transmitting an alert to warn others away." She stared intently into Elliot's eyes as if she could will him some of her own dwindling energy, some life.

His head bobbed in what could have been a nod. "Long range sensors… detect incoming ships… transmit signals to deep space…" The young man's eyes were closed now and Jack let himself grieve a moment for the wasted potential, potential he'd been slow to acknowledge in the eager, feisty airman.

"Could we reprogram one to signal Jacob and Daniel?" Carter saw it, too. By this time, after nearly five years with the SGC, they could all recognize the signs of life trickling away. At least, Jack reminded himself sharply, _they should_.

The next pause was longer. "It's possible," Elliot finally admitted, eyelids fluttering.

"Where are they?" Teal'c's voice sounded blunt and hard in the crystal tunnel. Doing his job. Getting the intel. Jack mentally shook himself.

"Four of them, twenty-five miles from the 'gate." He could see Elliot trying to pull himself together. "Each is north… south… east… and west."

Jack pulled his sleeve back from his wrist chrono, checking the compass readings. "I figure we're three miles from the gate."

"Give or take." Carter dragged Elliot's arm back over her shoulders with just a glance of apology at the thin, forgiving smile on the airman's face as she hauled him upright. "Either way, we're going to have to get to one of those sensors."

Got it, Major. Drag a dying man twenty plus miles to reach an alien communication device to broadcast a message for two friends who might never return. "Piece of cake," he muttered to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you all for continuing to read and send comments. They are definitely keeping me on track to finish this story!**

Letting Go Chapter 9

Last Stand – The Summit – Words and Revelation, Extended Scene

Daniel felt the scrutiny of the others like sand blowing across his skin. Morrigan's pet, at least, limited himself to a slow, dark inspection from across the room, making sure he never moved within Daniel's reach. No bruising showed along his nose or across his chin from Daniel's earlier blow – looked like Yu wasn't the only one to utilize the healing device. Cups and platters clanked and cloth rustled in the galley as the slaves worked, preparing food, cleaning up, stowing items away, but Daniel sensed time ticking away from him in their rigid backs, in the tension around their eyes, and in the buzzing along his own nerves.

His mind felt sloppy – ideas and images never fully forming before they were swept away in tides and torrents that left him confused and anxious. Save Sarah, save Earth from Anubis, save the Tok'ra poison, save the slaves – and, maybe, if there was time, save himself. He shook his head as if the motion could snap his thoughts into order. His role, Jarren, his submersion in this alien culture – it was slipping away. The clothes chafed, the neckpiece weighed down his shoulders, the calm, careful attitude of Yu's lo'taur threatened to split and spill out the deep loathing of these creatures that filled Daniel's veins.

"You knew they were going to eat them." He dropped the remark abruptly and the room stilled in lapping ripples around him. Dark gazes flickered towards him and then away, frowns twitched to life on smooth foreheads, muttered curses barely reached his ears. But, behind him, he felt the tension, the expectation, in Ba'al's lo'taur, as if he'd been waiting for Daniel to speak.

"Yes. They do that every night for as long as the summit continues." Smooth. Unconcerned. The young man attempted indifference, but Daniel heard the underlying hint of… scorn? Superiority? He remembered his first moments on this space station, as he made the circle of the council chamber at Yu's side - he felt a momentary shudder of exhaustion wash through him at how long ago it seemed. Yu had described Ba'al, warned Daniel of his cunning. The words from the Tok'ra report rang in his mind: manipulative, shrewd, vindictive. His lo'taur complemented him well.

The other slaves busied themselves with their errands, but they were listening. Yes, they were listening, Daniel admitted wryly to himself. Prettily dressed spies, sycophants aching for some tidbit to bring before their masters that would earn them the least crumb of praise or tenderness from those clutching, bruising hands. The rush of disgust startled him and he stood, confused, blinking down at the vessels near his shaking hands. He wasn't here to judge these people, to set them up beside other enslaved humans he'd known, others who had fought and clawed for freedom with their blood and souls. No, this anger in his belly was not aimed at them - it couldn't be. They were as surely trapped in these narrow little lives as any shackled prisoner in a narrow cell.

Drop a seed; shine a wavering light into the utter darkness of the System Lords' cruel attentions. Teal'c – remember Teal'c. He'd expect no less. "What do you think will happen when this is over – to us, I mean?" His words came out in a rush, fumbling, clumsy. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the linguist, the diplomat, beneath the trappings of slave and soldier.

"That is between you and your Master."

Try again, he growled to himself. "Don't you think it strange that the Goa'uld are letting us see their sacred rituals, hear their most secret conversations?" No. That wasn't right. The personal lo'taurs were intimate with their masters, keepers of secrets who had been tested and tried before ever being allowed to serve. Daniel's mind grasped for reason, for the right words to persuade, to inspire, but thoughts scattered, leaving him empty.

The voice was soft behind him. "I have been in the service of my Master for twenty-four years."

My god. Twenty-four years. The slim young man might be twenty-eight, thirty at the most. A lifetime of service, of slavery. Perhaps marked, chosen, from birth, raised within Ba'al's household, trained and taught and prepared for his obedience, his own will, individuality, uniqueness forced into a mold. Suppressed. Eliminated. Daniel hung onto the counter before him, afraid that he would fall. What could his few words do?

"In that time I have seen and heard many, many things. Have you not?"

The other lo'taurs were staring openly now, waiting. Daniel swallowed. He had to explain, had to find a way to make his stuttered questions sensible, logical, to find an answer that would pull him up out of this hole he had created for himself.

The Tok'ra intel rushed back – Jarren was new, undeveloped, had only held this 'blessed' position for months. Yu's lo'taur had been killed in Morrigan's attack.

"My Master's regular lo'taur could not be present; I took his place on short notice," he stammered. No. No. Slow down, Daniel. Get it right. Watching the knowing glances exchanged and the smirking grin from Morrigan's slave, he felt a sliver of relief. His bumbling words had been mistaken for euphemisms, for clever turns of phrase and the conceit of false modesty. Dragging a breath through his aching throat he waited, back still turned, for the lo'taur's response.

"I see."

Slowly, the others finished their preparations and moved out into the hallway in ones and twos. Daniel kept his head down, concentrating on his hands as they worked, unconsciously picking up and putting down items, pouring, stirring, mixing, trying to time his movements with the slave at his back, watching out of the corner of his eye. It seemed the other man was waiting, too, his pace deliberately sluggish, dawdling.

Hints and awkward questions weren't working. The thick shell of subservience that had been built around this young man required an assault - it wouldn't fall to whispered doubts and suspicions. Time worked against him now, every moment, every one of his useless, inept words bringing him nearer to exposure, to capture. He had to risk it – risk direct, open speech. He snorted to himself – subtlety was apparently beyond his skill anymore, his mind a blank mass of roiling emotion. Daniel purposely squashed his self-loathing, his seething anger that he couldn't even do this right, couldn't even break through the barriers to reach this man. 'Not fair, I'm not a soldier,' he'd repeated to himself since this hapless mission began. Well, no, but then what exactly was he?

As the last lo'taur disappeared from view, Daniel turned. "May I speak honestly with you?"

Raised eyebrows greeted him. "Have you not been honest prior to now?"

Funny. He sounded like Teal'c trying to find his way through English idioms. Daniel blinked, forcing his thoughts back into the moment. Honesty – another mistake. Complete honesty between the personal slaves of the System Lords was neither expected nor appreciated. He felt his lips curl into a mocking smile. This man might not believe a word that came from Daniel's mouth, but not because he doubted his identity as Yu's lo'taur – no, precisely the opposite - because he believed it.

"Yes, of course," Daniel insisted, all the false notes clear in his tone. No trust given, none received, no matter their words of agreement. Dammit. Useless. Futile. Pathetic. All those words others had used to describe him over the years came rushing back. 'Not exactly incompetent.' Maybe exactly that. But, he sighed wearily, he had to try.

All brakes off. No filter. Just the truth. "I believe the Goa'uld are powerful beings that use humans like us as hosts." He let his tired gaze hold Ba'al's slave, dropping all pretense. "I believe they use their power to portray gods, so that the masses will follow and serve them."

With a slight frown, the slave turned away. "I agree."

"You know this to be true?" Daniel snapped back, shocked.

"Yes."

"And yet you still serve?"

"As do you," the lo'taur replied smartly, throwing the accusation over his shoulder.

Daniel dropped his head, staring down at the metal pitcher clutched in his hands. They knew. The human slaves knew that these beings, these System Lords, were anything but gods. What had he seen out there in the council chamber that he'd mistaken for mindless devotion? How did these Goa'uld, the naked symbiotes in all their fragile ugliness, inspire worship in humans they deliberately abused, that they kept tied to their questionable mercy for all the necessities of life?

Fear? Self-preservation? That didn't explain it, didn't justify those expressions of burning piety, fawning dedication. Didn't the lo'taur understand? "Yes, but my fear is when this is over my Master will not wish me to spread the secrets that I have learned and will kill me to prevent it."

"You would not be here if your Master did not trust you."

The human slave was actually trying, uncomfortably, to reassure him. Daniel's grip tightened as all of the muscles in his body tensed.

"True," he said quickly, between clenched teeth. "But what if they do not care what we have seen and heard because, when they are done eating the symbiotes, they plan to put the leftovers in us."

Awe. Wonder. There on the pale, young face of a human slave who had been born to accept cruelty from Ba'al's hand as a blessing. Daniel felt his eyes widen in horror.

"We should only be so fortunate," the lo'taur breathed.

His gut heaved and pitched, nausea rising to flood his throat. "Excuse me?" he barely stammered.

"I have served my Master so well for so long in the hope that one day he would grant me the honor of implantation…"

"…the honor…" Daniel found himself repeating tonelessly.

"Yes," the slave panted, his eyes filled with a crushing desire, an inhuman greed. "Endless pleasure and the power of the Goa'uld." His stare bored into Daniel, hot, grasping, as if the archaeologist must share this lust, this hunger to trade his role of slave for that of slave-master. The lo'taur sneered. "A chance to one day ascend to the rank of System Lord."

Daniel nodded, finding himself mirroring Ba'al's servant's knowing smile while his stomach turned and his sincere words tumbled to silence. This man may have born an innocent victim of the Goa'uld's bitter subjugation, but now he was a complicit, scheming partner in crime. Save the slaves? Save them from rape and beatings and oppression? His chest tightened, breathing reduced to shallow gulps of air. How naive of him. Any rebellion within the humans of the Goa'uld kingdoms would not start with the trusted lo'taurs. No, these men and women would gladly rip the flesh from anyone that stood between them and the power they sought. Including Daniel.

The slight narrowing of the lo'taur's eyes and the tilt to his head reminded Daniel of the necessity of a response.

"How foolish of me to try to test you with my words," he finally managed to reply, bending his neck in a quick bow. "There is nothing quite like power, is there?" The words tasted bitter, poisonous.

The lo'taur agreed quickly, face shining with unholy glee. "Nothing."

~o~

Daniel was the last servant to arrive back in the council chamber where the Goa'uld still ranted and postured and accused each other. Yu's hooded stare never left Osiris' self-important face; it was the rough grasp of his fingers on the offered cup, the whitening of his knuckles at the strangling grip that threatened to crush the thick metal that betrayed his rage. Daniel tried to keep still, to straighten his back and listen to the discordant, echoing voices, to swallow any hints or clues to the Goa'uld strategy, but his gaze wandered to the other lo'taur, trying to see below the placid servitude to the dark ambition within. Yes. It was there. In each of them. He'd missed it.

Yu was speaking, his gravelly voice drawing Daniel's reluctant attention. "Your Master has exacted tolls from each of us."

"Yet you all voted to welcome him back into the fold," Osiris' charged.

The barely restrained tension from Yu expanded until Daniel could almost taste the blood in his mouth and feel the blows against his body from the furious Goa'uld's next beating. Ba'al's words, Olokun's demands, Osiris' sneering responses washed over him without finding purchase, until a barked demand from his right sliced through his tumbling thoughts.

"Anubis may have grown strong, but he does not outweigh the collective power of the System Lords." Ba'al's dark eyes met Yu's across the council chamber. "What deed does Anubis offer as evidence of the dedication you claim on his behalf?"

"Speak now, or leave us," Yu snarled.

Daniel tensed as Osiris lifted Sarah's body from the chair and stalked the room.

"As I have said before, Anubis believes that the greatest threat to the Goa'uld is that from within." She glared, eyes narrowing for just a moment as her gaze lighted on Daniel's face. "As we meet here, that threat is being greatly weakened." Her – his, Daniel frowned – his leering smile was sharp, full of blades and promised violence. "Over the years we have all lost a great deal to the infiltrations, subversions, and rebellious acts of the Tok'ra. Today will henceforth be known as the day that the blood of the Tok'ra ran free, and their rebellion ended for good."

The Tok'ra – an attack on the Tok'ra. Daniel's mind twisted, possibilities snapping into place, Osiris' claims within Yu's chambers filling in the gaps, leading to vivid images of destruction, of vicious attacks from the sky on an unprotected base. Of familiar uniforms spattered with blood, eyes hazy in dead faces.

It wasn't him. Wasn't about him. The danger, the risk – God, did Jack know? Adrenaline burned through his confusion, filling him with a frantic energy. Did Hammond and Jack and Sam know that they were sending Daniel away from the battle? Away from the worst danger? Dammit, damn them all – had they known?

His gaze darted around the chamber as he swallowed the anger and fear and dread and made his decision. Osiris stood there in golden glory. Now. It was time to act.


	10. Chapter 10

Letting Go Chapter 10

Last Stand – Revanna – A Desperate Journey

Nine hours. And that was if everything went their way. Yeah. That was likely, Jack snorted to himself. Because everything had been going so well since Ren'Al had knocked on the SGC's iris a few days ago. He hefted his end of the cobbled-together stretcher, flexing gloved fingers on the slick wood, and glanced down at the grey-faced lieutenant lying disturbingly limp there, errant raindrops leaving black spots like mold on his green fatigues. Nine more hours pacing through the brush, dodging Jaffa patrols, just so they could arrive at the damned Tok'ra transmitter and, maybe, the end of the line.

Carter had grabbed at the idea of sending a signal with both hands, focusing her hope in that persistent, unrelenting, terrier-with-a-rat way she had when she couldn't think her way out of a problem. Okay, he could deal with that – it was better than that crap fatalism she was spouting down in the tunnels. A few deep breaths of some smoke-laced air, a little barely potable water, weak sunlight peeking through the massive storm clouds and Carter bounced right back. He watched as she walked at Elliot's side, sometimes reaching out to touch the young airman's shoulder in a familiar gesture. At least it wasn't Daniel lying there so close to death.

And wasn't that an honorable thought. Jack clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. No matter how he looked at it, that simple statement revealed just what a complete and utter rat bastard Colonel Jack O'Neill had become.

Relief. He actually felt relief that a certain annoying archaeologist wasn't lying there at the edge of death with a useless snake wrapped around his brain. Human nature or not, understandable or not, being willing to trade some green recruit's life for his friend's didn't exactly make Jack eligible for the CO of the year award. He sucked on the anger and guilt that filled his throat, compelled to really look at the dying airman being bounced along with every step, his head falling back and forth unsupported by his slack neck, and forced himself not to veil the sunken features with the strong chin and determined blue eyes of Daniel Jackson. No. Elliot deserved better.

And then, of course, there was the fact that wishing Daniel away from this FUBAR mission sent him right into the arms of the Goa'uld System Lords. Definitely a postcard experience, Jack was sure. 'Dear Jack – Weather's great, having a swell time playing dress-up, wish you were here.' He didn't know which scenario was the frying pan and which the fire, but it didn't really matter – both were too damned hot.

He shook his head. Nothing could save this mission from total failure – well, nothing but a time machine and a swift kick in the ass so he and Hammond didn't make the same mistake twice. Twice, hell, racing off in pursuit of strategic – military – gains had become business as usual, and even the relentless pressure from above didn't justify his recent decisions. Questions – they should have asked more questions. Just like on Euronda. Or with the Gadmeer. Or the damn armbands. That famous military arrogance, all straight backs and closed minds and 'we know better' crap. Huh - and he blamed _the Tok'ra_ for being set in their ways.

Teal'c had come right out and told Jack that he'd screwed the pooch this time, ignored assets, charged forward full speed ahead as if he already had all the answers. One whiff of a possible major strike against the Goa'uld and Jack was off, nose to the ground, trampling everybody and everything in his path. Wanting Daniel to do it, not wanting Daniel to do it – had he even had a clear thought or made a clear decision once the carrot of cutting off the head of the Goa'uld snake was dangled in front of him? He couldn't blame the Tok'ra for this one – yeah, their sense of strategy was weak and their so-called planning left holes he could drive a cargo ship through, but Jack had happily conspired with the deceiving, egotistical snake-heads and given up his teammate as a sacrificial lamb, doubting Daniel's abilities to pull it off at the same time. The hell with CO, what kind of man did that make him? If he believed in any of it, Jack would think that the Goa'uld attack, the decimation of the Tok'ra, and the death of SG-17 was his own personal penance.

The thin foliage, the warm drizzle of rain, and the uneven footing yanked at the muscles in Jack's legs with every jerk from a barely recovered slip – the air was heavy and still, quiet, filled only with the irregular slide of footsteps, doing nothing whatsoever to distract Jack from his dark thoughts. There was another concept he'd been dodging for far too long; it kept flooding him with churning waves of alternating frustration and sorrow. At the end of their nine hour stroll through the wet sand on an alien planet lugging a nearly dead airman through enemy territory towards a last-ditch attempt at escape, what, exactly, were they going to find?

Seemed like there were only two choices; two equally nauseating, filthy choices. Most likely they'd find silence. An embarrassed shrug from a bald ex-general standing alone in the rain. An empty spot on SG-1 with a distinctly Jacksonian shape. Or, would they be met with a blank, blue-eyed stare in the face of an assassin? A stranger, ex-geek, wanna be Black Ops killer, deep wounds hidden beneath a thick protective skin layered with guilt and grief and too many expectations?

Jack hefted the stretcher and tested the weight of Elliot's fractured body, his eyes glued to Teal'c's brutally rigid back and, for a moment, let the guilt swamp his reason. No, no way those possibilities were equal. If he was lucky, very, very lucky, if the gods of karma and the guardian angels of stubborn archaeologists allowed his missing teammate to survive with whatever wounds, whatever gashes or hurts that cut deep into that Daniel Jackson spirit, then at least Jack would have a chance. A chance to peel back those layers one by one until he could recognize the innocent scholar he'd first seen through a haze of cigarette smoke in a cold conference room beneath the mountain. And, even if that guy never looked back at Jack with the fierce connection he'd taken for granted, or friendship, or even respect, it would be enough. Daniel – alive. Yeah, it would be enough.

He blinked into the thin rain and shunted aside the sense of crushing loss until a bare trickle of regret remained. Nine hours. Probably more. Possibly a lifetime. Jack narrowed his eyes and took another step.

Last Stand – Space Station – Acts of Desperation

Daniel lengthened his strides, mind reeling with images of blood-drenched fatigues, the searing heat of staff weapon fire, his friends on their knees before another Goa'uld. What was it that some famous person had once said – something about inspiration and desperation – he shook his head, unwilling to waste time trying to reach for the memory. He had to leave, they had to get back to Revanna, God help him, they had to be in time.

How long would it take? He and Jacob had timed their arrival on Yu's home world carefully, both knowing that the less time Daniel spent with the System Lord, especially in his own household, the better. And the Goa'uld himself had navigated a skewed path to this space station, leaving Daniel with absolutely no idea where in relation to Revanna he currently stood. Dammit. He ground his teeth together as his frantic steps led him farther from the council chamber and yet no closer to a plan. Jacob and the Tok'ra had left him handcuffed to their own purposes, completely blind to anything and everything that had no direct relevance to this mission – in their alien, twisted sense of logic – including how to escape and get home if Jacob and his ship had been somehow compromised. Daniel felt his lips twist into a spiteful grin. Of course, his life was altogether expendable, wasn't it? _'No single person's life is more important.'_ How could he have forgotten?

_Jacob's ship_. The thin blade of an idea pierced Daniel's swirling thoughts. He'd flown Yu's ship; he could read the displays and had seen the locking 'autopilot' controls. And, with her own lips, one other person on the space station had already admitted that she knew exactly where Revanna was located. He fled towards the bowels of the station.

The green slash of paint on the lo'taur's face drew his eye and Daniel slowed his rushed pace, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to release some of the tension that gripped him and left his mouth dry and his stomach knotted. Impulsive, dangerous – it didn't matter now. Action, he had to act. He gripped his hands behind him, knuckles strained painfully tight.

"Excuse me." Daniel managed to temper his impatience and dredge up a tentative smile, a hint of flirtation, as the woman approached. "I wish to pass on a message from my Master Yu to Osiris," he glanced purposefully towards the nearby entrance to the dock area, "he wishes to meet." He knew his words were too fast, too urgent, and he bowed his head to quickly mask the grimace of desperation that must be plastered across his face. When he looked up, the woman smiled a silent response and moved lazily away, hips undulating.

The door to Yu's ship slid open and Daniel hurried inside. Nothing to do now but wait – and tell Jacob that Revanna was currently being invaded by Anubis' troops. Yep. No problem, then.

"Jacob."

"What the hell's going on, Daniel?"

Sharp, angry – no surprise there. Daniel closed his eyes and rubbed one hand across his forehead, trying to ease the pressure that was building inside and threatening to undo all his resolve - resolve to ensure that this mission ended with Osiris in the hands of the Tok'ra and SG-1 safely back on Earth. He suddenly yearned for sleep, for the musty smell of books and the comfort of fatigues, and he hungered for a place of safety where he could let go of the pathetic slave Jarren and try to find the not-so-innocent, long-haired geek he'd been before his wife, and his hope, had died. He needed to get away from the scheming and the fighting and the blood and lose himself in the dust of ancient civilizations, bury his hands in the dirt of alien soil. His hand moved down to press against his ribs, the stubborn pain there a physical reminder of everything that went wrong when Daniel Jackson forgot himself and tried to play the soldier.

"Anubis knows the location of the Tok'ra base." Daniel had no strength left for subtlety and no heart for sympathizing with Jacob's loss. "Osiris says he's attacking right now."

"Get to the shield, Daniel, shut it down. I'm coming in."

He'd never heard Jacob Carter panic - not even when they'd been imprisoned in Sokar's hell, not flying cloaked with a mine in his hold, not when he'd been injured on a Goa'uld mother ship millions of miles from home - but this, this came damn close. Daniel paced the small cockpit of Yu's ship, stabbing at the controls that opened the inner door to the cargo compartment. Jacob's knee-jerk reaction and his quick orders had been expected, and, on another day, they might just have sent him to follow obediently. But not today.

"Forget that, I have a new plan," Daniel snapped abruptly and walked back towards the door, checking the hallway impatiently. Osiris had to come. He had to take the bait – and soon. Jacob wouldn't be put off for long. He swept back and forth between the ship and the corridor in long nervous strides, dreading the upcoming confrontation, fingering the bone beneath his eye that Yu had shattered with one blow. Osiris had to be contained quickly, before he could use his enhanced Goa'uld strength to, well, to kill him.

Jacob didn't wait. "What are you doing?" he demanded, and Daniel had no trouble imagining the older man's furious scowl.

"Oh," he sighed, "I'm stealing Yu's cargo ship." He checked out the controls, mentally rehearsing the buttons he'd need to press, the sequence of commands he'd have to input to get the ship moving. He frowned. "I can fly it from inside the shield without shutting it down, right?"

"_Why_?"

Oh, yes. There it was - the unconcealed threat, the easily heard undercurrent of anger in that one-word demand for an explanation. _'And make it good_,' he mentally added in Jack O'Neill's particularly dangerous tone. It wasn't really a question, just an invitation for Daniel to provide an excuse for criticism, for a justification for Jack's mocking response.

He pressed a series of buttons to prepare the cargo ship for flight, hurriedly wiping his sweating palms against the thin fabric of his pants. "Because I'm taking Osiris with me."

"Do you have her now?" Jacob's disbelief came through loud and clear.

Daniel looked back over his shoulder towards the dark hallway. "No, but I'm working on it," he replied wearily. He moved to the console between the two seats and twisted the main control dial to 'stand by' and was rewarded by a power surge that vibrated the floorboards and brought the lights up in the cabin. Okay. Progress.

"Daniel, the chemical weapon you're carrying could be the only way we can stop the attack on Revanna."

"Yeah, and, ah, Osiris could eventually lead us to Anubis." Daniel didn't need any more lectures, or demands, or strategic battle plans that were based solely on saving the damned poison. "And you and your buddies can do their best to take the snake out of Sarah, right?" He blinked dry eyes, trying to focus on the cockpit controls – they looked right, he was sure they were right.

"How are you going to fly that ship?"

Nice try, Jacob. Daniel smirked and raised the communicator one more time. "Well, I've flown a mother ship, how hard can this be?"

He checked again, made sure the settings were correct, his gaze flicking from the opened cargo bay doors to the banks of controls on the wall, on the center console, and on the flight panel. He wiped his sweating hands again and tried to ignore the way they shook. Osiris had to take the bait; he had to wonder what Yu could possibly have to say to him after the vote, after Yu had been humiliated before all of his System Lord peers.

Daniel stilled as he heard the click of heels against the metal floor, his heat beat hammering against his chest. Eyes wide he crouched behind one of the gold struts that arched up from floor to ceiling, careful to make sure every inch of his body was within its shadow. It was Sarah – Osiris. He waited as she lingered by the escape pods, her suspicion obvious in the stiff line of her neck and her bright, narrow eyes. The dark cargo bay beckoned, not three steps away, and Daniel held his breath as she drew the slim dagger from its sheath, turned her back to him, and crept cautiously through its doors.

A second later he'd lunged from his hiding place and slammed his fingers into the door's control, trapping her just as she'd turned, blade flaring in the light from the flight deck. She roared in fury, but it was too late – she was his prisoner. Daniel took a step backward, head and heart pounding in rhythm now, and closed his eyes tightly. Yes. He'd done it.

There was no time – he had to –

A powerful backhand exploded against his chest. Ribs cracked. His left side smashed against the floor. Black – red – gold - his vision swam and he brought up one hand towards his face, blinking, trying to focus. Yu. It was Yu.

Daniel lay there, panting, each shallow breath, each heartbeat clearing his vision. The Goa'uld had lost all veneer of stoicism now; his face was stretched into an awful grimace, rage contorting his features. He took one step towards Daniel and the archaeologist knew that this time, Yu wouldn't stop at breaking him – this time he was going to die. A second later he frowned, stifling a cry – Yu was turning away, reaching for the controls for the cargo bay doors.

Osiris' eyes flamed gold and Daniel watched as Sarah's arm drove the dagger into Yu's belly. Daniel struggled to his feet, launching himself towards the door, towards escape – at least for a moment - but she caught him, effortlessly, and tossed him back against the console as if he was weightless. Then she was on him, one hand tight around his throat, the other clutching the bloody dagger, knuckles white against the hilt. Daniel yanked at her hand, gasping for air, and grabbed at the hand holding the knife, knowing he could never beat her strength, that he couldn't keep her from killing him. His mind was a blur of images – Yu's deadly fury, Sarah's sneering power, Jacob – hiding, never knowing what had happened. Daniel strained for an answer, an idea – anything – and his gaze fell on the metal structures over her shoulder.

"How unfortunate that Lord Yu could not trust his slave," Osiris spat, bending him backwards until he felt his spine would crack, squeezing his throat closed. "Each was mortally wounded in the fight as the slave attempted to kill his Master."

Daniel yanked at the hand around his neck, desperately pulling in air, and felt the needle-point of his ring gouge her skin. "Sarah! Sarah, it's me – Daniel!" A second – he only needed to distract her for one second, to … He felt it in the sudden release of her muscles, the shift in shadows behind her eyes – she saw him – Daniel Jackson – her host's human lover. He gathered his strength to shove her away.

Yu slammed into her from the side, growling like an animal, and broke her grip on Daniel's neck. He hauled her backward, hurling her through the cargo bay doorway, and charged after her. They were blind to him now, feral snarls and flashing eyes aimed only at the real threat – each other.

Daniel fumbled at the controls, pressing buttons, his vision graying out again, his chest burning. He raced past the battle – two steps, just two steps - sliding into the escape pod just as Osiris threw Yu backwards and came for him again. Her cry of rage was cut off by the closing doors and he jerked, pain lancing through him, as he felt the pod drop through the shaft and shear off into space.

Sarah – he clenched his teeth, refusing to give voice to the wave of failure that shook through him. He couldn't save her. He couldn't… Eyes closed, every muscle tight, Daniel gripped the Tok'ra communicator and brought it close to his face.

"Get me out of this thing," he hissed into the darkness.

His stomach fluttered as the pod shuddered and jerked - a moment of weightlessness and then more pain as the pod slammed backwards and his body seemed to rise and then crash to the ground, drawing a strained gasp from between his lips. Daniel bit the next one back as a bright light streaked through the pod's opening, and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes.

Jacob. The cloaked cargo ship. 'Move,' he told himself, 'get out, get up – keep going.' He snatched the drugged ring from his finger and flung it away, listening as it rattled against the ship's metal floor. No more spying, no more covert ops. A firm hand grasped his.

"You okay?"

Daniel screwed his face up and let Jacob pull him upright. His neck burned. Every breath burned. Tremors crept along his nerves. The pain tried to overpower him, tried to sneak bile up the back of his throat, but he wouldn't give in. They didn't have time.

"Oh, yeah," he ground out through his teeth.

Jacob's gaze was searing, not believing Daniel's easy answer for a moment. "What happened?" he demanded.

Daniel dragged his hand from the older man's grip and swiped it across his forehead, still squinting in the harsh light. "I had her, and then Yu had me," he felt the steadying hand at his back, the other gripped around his arm, but he kept moving, giving Jacob no choice but to follow him towards the cockpit. "I had to get out of there while they were fighting it out."

"The poison?"

He nearly stumbled then, nearly laughed at Jacob's one track mind, but he managed to cover it with a groan. "Yeah, it's right here." He moved his left arm back to the pouch at his belt, but his fingers felt thick and numb, fumbling at the flap. Jacob could have the damn stuff.

"Good man." One pat on the back and the Tok'ra rushed away towards the pilot's chair, leaving Daniel to trail after him and slide awkwardly into the co-pilot's seat, one hand pressed tightly against his ribs.

"How long is it going to take us to get there," he breathed, frowning down at the controls that he'd been so confident of understanding just moments ago but that now looked like strange swirls of flashing lights and streams of gibberish. He blinked, trying to focus.

Jacob was busy adjusting dials and levers, all business. "Pushing the hyperdrive engines full power? Six hours, but we may already be too late."

Lingering fear and, perhaps, a trace of despair underlay Jacob's voice and seemed to give his movements a sharp, edged quality. His new family, his new home since his blending with Selmac, and, more importantly, his daughter were all in danger of destruction. Daniel searched for words to reassure, to comfort, holding himself still to lessen his own pain so that he could focus on the other man's. His mind was sluggish, reeling. Nothing… there was nothing he could say. Nothing that Daniel had done at the summit had helped their cause in any way. And it would take them six hours to find out if Daniel's little bit of intel, one cargo ship, and a small vial of poison could make any difference to the Tok'ra – and SG-1's – struggle for survival.

He let his head fall back against the seat, weary, desperate to help, and swallowed past the soreness of his throat. "Well, this may seem unimportant right now, but I might as well tell you anyway." Daniel lifted his head, staring straight out through the ship's windows, unwilling to watch Jacob's jerky movements as he readied the ship. "But I think I've figured out why the Goa'uld population hasn't been growing much lately."

Daniel saw Jacob turn to him out of the corner of his eye, but kept his head up, his gaze fixed in distant space as the Tok'ra's glare raked over his body, hesitating at his neck, at the way his right hand was still pressed against his chest. He didn't turn, didn't meet his eyes, and, after a moment he watched the glowing colors of the hyperspace window appear in space and felt the slight snap of movement as the ship leaped forward to be swallowed up by its flickering light.

The small ship hummed and quivered as power coursed through it, until, after a few minutes, Jacob slid the automatic control device onto the red ball and turned in his seat. "You're not okay, are you, Daniel?"

"I'm fine," he murmured, wondering why the hyperdrive field surrounding the ship brightened and darkened, as if it was throbbing in time to some rhythm he couldn't hear.

"Daniel?"

Jacob's voice seemed so far away and Daniel didn't have the strength to turn his head to find out why.

"Daniel!"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: After far too long, the story is finally finished. I'll be uploading a chapter a day until the story comes to an end. Thank you all so much for being patient, for being such faithful readers and senders of feedback. It's kept me coming back to finish this one!**

**Letting Go Chapter 11**

**Invisible Wounds – Journey to Revanna – Missing Scene**

Jacob watched, a passenger behind his own eyes, as Selmac moved with inhuman swiftness – he was around the center console fast, catching Daniel by the shoulders just as he tumbled from the co-pilot's chair. And then, effortlessly, he lifted the unconscious young man in his arms and hurried to the rear section of the ship. Laid out against the dark, metal flooring, the first purple blush of bruising, long, finger-shaped claw marks were stark against the almost colorless skin of Daniel's throat; his breath was a wheezing moan, brow furrowed, eyes moving restlessly behind nearly closed eyelids, the thin crescent of blue unsettling, sending a sting of worry along Jacob's nerves. A moment later Daniel's face slid away, replaced by bulkheads and crates as the Tok'ra moved off to retrieve the healing device from its compartment. Jacob gritted mental teeth as his gaze skittered across the ship, the rapid, involuntary movements tightening the sick knot in his stomach that had been with him since Daniel's mission had begun. His vision reeled again as Selmac knelt at Daniel's side and held out the Goa'uld device; Jacob felt the strange electric surge along his skin that accompanied the palm-sized healing glow.

He wanted to yell, to demand answers from his symbiote, to somehow shoulder his way to the forefront and wrench control away. The need to take charge ran deep and furious within General Jacob Carter's psyche, and to step back quietly and wait, to allow Selmac to hang onto the conscious movement of his body took every hard-won ounce of trust that the two had built between them since their blending. The shape of Selmac's internal silence, the jagged edge of the symbiote's sharp focus kept Jacob small and quiet within. Watching.

A swell of worry, of red-hot anger leaked through to his mind as Selmac released his careful control and let Jacob experience Daniel's injuries. Pain flared, his breathing stuttered, and Jacob would have closed his eyes against the overwhelming influx of sensations if he could.

"He has been beaten – broken, Jacob." The Tok'ra used his voice to speak, his hand to move the healer slowly over the young man's chest, his throat, his face, and Jacob was grateful – he wouldn't have been able to make a sound through his bile-filled throat. "Even now he bleeds."

Broken, bleeding – Yu's hands had done this – alone or aided by others – other monsters that he'd placidly sent Daniel among. It shouldn't come as such a surprise. He and Selmac and every other Tok'ra involved in this mission had known the risks, had known the dangers that Daniel might face. That Daniel _had_ faced. The proof was staring him in the face.

Jacob felt the snap of connection as Selmac opened their shared consciousness to Daniel's pain. The broken ribs, the lacerated spleen, the damaged tissues of the throat, crushed nerves in his neck, his eye, his back, the soft blood-infused thickness in his brain, the blood loss starving his organs of oxygen. Selmac's reaction shuddered through Jacob's body.

"He has been healed several times over many hours." The Tok'ra hesitated.

'Partially healed,' Jacob retorted, seething.

The glow dimmed in the healing device. "Yes. He is gravely injured, my friend."

'What are you doing?' Jacob demanded, willing his own strength towards the faint connection that remained, linking the nervous systems of the two humans and one symbiote. 'We have to heal him!'

"It will require much from us, Jacob – much of our own strength, our own stamina."

'I don't care!' Jacob could feel his desperation echo within his skull. No. It didn't matter. This whole mess had been the Tok'ra Council's idea – to turn Daniel Jackson into a lone assassin and to use him as a spy in the most dangerous place in this or any other universe. He'd be damned … there was no way …

Selmac read his unvoiced frustration, the guilt mixed with concern that fueled Jacob's anguish. "I agree, Jacob. I merely wanted to remind you of the costs – to both of us. It will take much time for my recovery – perhaps longer than our journey to Revanna." Selmac turned their eyes to the unconscious figure lying so still before them. "He would not welcome our sacrifice, would he?"

'You know what, Selmac?' Jacob offered, watching his hands maneuver the bright, healing glow over Daniel's heart. 'What Daniel doesn't know won't hurt him'

**Invisible Bonds – Revanna – Extended Scene**

Sam squinted through the stubborn drizzle, stepping carefully through the undergrowth – heavier now, soil replacing the sand closer to the Stargate, ferns and vines threatening to trip them up and send them sprawling. Her hands were white with cold and she stretched and bent her fingers around her weapon, easing their cramps, waking a momentary flash of pain as the nerves responded. Her wet clothes, her pack, weighed heavily, the canvas legs of her trousers slapping and chafing her flesh, her socks sopping, toes squishing and rubbing uncomfortably in her boots.

She was weary – body and soul. Weary of the stresses of being on constant guard for more than a day, weary of listening for death gliders or approaching Jaffa, weary of searching her mind for a way out. And weary of the low-grade fear – for Elliot, for her father, for Daniel – for all of them. Her mind had begun taking refuge in small things – small wants, insignificant needs. She wanted, more than anything, to stop, to take off her boots and put on clean, warm, dry socks. Just that one token of comfort; that small consolation. It became her mantra as she trudged through the rain, allowing her worry and grief to drain away into the drumming rain, marching feet, and repeated words. _Warm, dry socks. Warm, dry socks. Warm dry socks._

She refused to look at her watch. Again. Sam raised her eyes, instead, to scan the low, grey clouds, their upper edges tinged with black. The light was fading, the long day of Revanna finally ending. Her thoughts rose through the overcast, wishing she knew how far, how fast, when and where her lost teammate – and her father – had to travel to get back to them. She shook her head, forcing her eyes back to their careful inspection of the ground beneath her feet.

She trusted her father to get them both back alive – to watch Daniel's back and plan their escape from enemy space, and to be in time to save the rest of SG-1. Of course she did. She tightened her resolve. General Jacob Carter. The ancient Tok'ra, Selmac. Hardened battle veterans of many lifetimes. Stubborn, tough, resilient. But that spark of fear growing in her chest wouldn't die with such simple reassurances. No adult, no Air Force officer, no grown daughter wanted to admit that, at times, she still needed her daddy to rescue her.

Was that why she hadn't questioned this ill-thought-out mission? Was the rubber stamp of Jacob Carter enough to keep her from asking questions? From demanding details that she'd never thought twice about? Was her father's word all she needed? Apparently. Apparently this newfound trust, this so yearned for connection between Sam and her father had been enough for her to thrust one of her best friends into his hands – blindly.

Her emotions plunged and soared, teeter-tottering wildly between a little girl's hope and devotion and an officer's - a scientist's – common sense. Fathers and daughters. The dynamics defied explanation. She wanted to be rescued. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to hold on and find a way to get her teammates to safety. She wanted him to be proud. She wanted a way out of this jumble of weary thoughts and exhausted dread.

Mantra faltering, Sam's mind dredged up every objection she should have made, every question she should have asked, and every detail she should have demanded. Martouf, Lantash – she wiped a sodden sleeve across her dripping nose - she'd fought fiercely, tenaciously, for him, she'd relentlessly sought answers, barraged the Tok'ra Council for the particulars of his recovery, and stubbornly refused to accept their easy assurances, the deflection of her persistence. But not for Daniel. Nothing for him but naïve agreement and shallow humor.

And the only difference was her father.

Once estranged, filled with blame, their relationship defined by bitterness and disappointment. The one who never listened, never measured up, was never there. And then, suddenly, dying. Still pushing her away, still silent, still holding himself so far from her that any connection between them was thin and taut like a fragile thread of glass. Now, here he was, not only in her life, but, somehow, with Selmac's help, open and caring and the father she'd always wanted. And any resistance, any hint of disbelief or doubt on her part made her feel ungrateful, disloyal.

To Sam, it felt like betrayal.

Her feet burned, her shoulders ached, but Sam forced another step, two, three, head twisting from side to side, eyes scanning through the freezing rain. A flash of unnatural color made her turn her head and Sam stumbled, almost running to drop next to the alien device, wet sopping immediately through the knees of her trousers. She called out to Teal'c and the colonel, heart hammering, shaking fingers picking carefully at the leaves and sticks caught in the mechanism. They'd found it. They'd found the Tok'ra transmitter. Sam's mind shuffled all the confusion, the relief, the uneasiness to the background and concentrated on Elliot's gasping instructions, visualizing the adjustments she needed to make to the alien circuitry.

She refused to look at her watch.

**Borrowed Weakness – Journey to Revanna – Missing Scene**

Awareness came all at once, as if a familiar voice within him had urged him awake. Daniel tensed, anticipating the surge of pain, the aching weariness and guilt that had wound thick tendrils deep within him. He waited, eyes closed, shivering, energy dancing along his skin, raising the fine hairs on his bare arms. Instead of pain, a lingering warmth eased the tightness in his chest, spreading at a snail's pace down his limbs and through his muscles, to the tips of his fingers and toes, drawing a sense of peace – so long a stranger - along with it.

Not Yu – the flavor of this healing came with no residue of fear, no sense of hovering scrutiny, of testing or barely restrained glee at his unresolved hurts. Images of the System Lord's dark satisfaction transformed into snarling hatred and Daniel flinched from remembered blows, from a clawed hand clutching his bruised throat, gold eyes, a thin blade… Sarah …

"Hey, Danny, it's okay, you're safe."

Jacob?

Daniel frowned. Jacob sounded so tired. Memories awoke and he surged upward against the hand of gentle restraint on his shoulder, eyes snapping open to search for the anxious face.

"Jacob?"

The Tok'ra-blended human smiled, patting him absently, the weight of the healing device drawing his other hand to the floor. "How do you feel?"

"I'm-" Daniel cut off his automatic response and stilled, searching for the shards of brokenness that he remembered, his hand pressed against his ribs, and found … nothing. He felt his eyebrows climb. "I'm fine."

The former general's face relaxed in a knowing grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well," he started, coloring his words with a pale shade of his usual sharpness, "it's about time. I thought you were going to sleep the whole way to Revanna."

Daniel blinked steadily, trying to force moisture into his dry eyes. "Sleep? I don't remember…" He squinted in the faint light thrown into the cargo compartment from the lighted consoles in the cockpit. Jacob sat close beside him, shoulders slumped, head hanging forward over his chest. The older man looked pale, almost ghostly, in the green and orange glow of the readouts, his skin thin and papery, shadowed beneath his eyes, arms hanging heavily at his sides. "What's going on?" he whispered.

Jacob seemed to shake himself, straightening his back, and placed both hands on his bent knees. He tilted his head, gaze scanning Daniel from head to toe. "You tell me."

Daniel set his lips tightly together. Jacob's compassion sent a flare into the calming morass of guilt and blame and anger that still sat within Daniel's soul. He'd touched him with the healing device, had measured the physical toll of this mission in Daniel's broken bones and torn skin. Deeper, more intimately than any debriefing could possibly go, Jacob and Selmac had read the report of this bloody fiasco in his tissues. He tightened his fists, grabbing onto any slim thread of privacy left to him. It didn't matter now, he told himself. What had happened – what nearly happened – he felt the heat in his face and hoped the dim lighting hid it from the military man – what hadn't happened on the space station was past. And even Jacob couldn't make him relive the sordid details. It was over. Daniel had failed, in both his mission from the SGC and the Tok'ra and in his promise to himself to save Sarah. That was all that mattered.

"You were right," he muttered, "I shouldn't have tried to get Sarah out of there. It was hopeless from the beginning." He dipped his head and then forced himself to meet the older man's eyes. "Thank you, though." He gestured towards the healing device.

"No problem," Jacob replied after a moment. Daniel saw the unasked questions in his eyes, but looked away and scrambled to his feet.

"Hey, help an old guy up, will ya? I'd better check our course."

Daniel turned and caught Jacob's waving hand, frowning when the Tok'ra needed more help than he expected, immediately steadying him with one hand against his back when he seemed to waver.

As if he felt the archaeologist's scrutiny, Jacob swung his arms from his shoulders and twisted his neck back and forth. "You try sitting on a cold metal floor for four hours at our age," he snapped good-naturedly, rubbing the back of his neck before stumbling back towards his pilot's chair.

"Four hours?" Daniel followed, relieved to find that the only remnants of his injuries were a sick emptiness in his belly and the almost uncontrollable urge to put his head down on the console and sleep. "Why did you-"

Jacob's tone was light. "It took quite a while to deal with your injuries, Danny." He turned away from the controls to face him across the expanse of the Goa'uld cockpit. "Quite a while." He put both hands on his hips. "You should have told me."

The statement prompted a quick, humorless smile. Too little too late, he thought to himself, eyes half hooded. "You knew," he accused quietly, "you knew what the System Lords were like. You knew what they were likely to do, how they treated their lo'taurs. You said as much when I found the symbiotes."

He saw the twitching muscle in Jacob's jaw and almost expected a word of censure from Selmac, but the Tok'ra turned away and settled heavily into his seat to scan the instruments.

"I realize you don't want to talk about it, but Selmac and I," Jacob turned again to face Daniel, "we just want to say we're sorry."

Daniel stared silently out into the iridescent tunnel of hyperspace, wondering how he should respond. He tried to rein in his wildly scattered thoughts, tried to tuck his latest experiences into place within his mind, to lay out the stumbling progression of false steps, assumptions, doubts, and misplaced pride that had coalesced into this massive failure, tried to give it shape and form and force it to make sense. But, even now, it wouldn't track; he couldn't seem to follow the trail of reasoning that left him alone with the System Lords in deep space, trying to prove his worth.

"Daniel?"

His frown deepened and he cleared his throat, struggling to form his thoughts into words, searching for that sense of urgency that had prodded him through the Goa'uld corridors to make his misguided attempt at kidnapping. The enemy was so vast, so powerful, against his stupid, vain, feeble, _futile_ efforts. He shook his head. It was so much bigger than just one human life, he reminded himself, shrugging. His, Sarah's – it didn't matter. "Acceptable losses," he murmured, more to himself than to the blended being beside him.

"What?"

He turned to find Jacob, his face drained of color, staring at him.

"It doesn't really matter, Jacob," he repeated, believing it. The greatest weapon the Tok'ra could conceive of was useless in the hands of a hapless archaeologist. His fingers itched for his brushes and his books, his translations and artifacts and, damn it all, his glasses – he rubbed at his naked face. He found a smile and flashed it towards the other man. "How long until we get there?"

Jacob sat silently for a moment, as if having trouble finding words himself. "Another two hours or so," he finally answered.

Daniel nodded and touched the controls with one finger. "Want me to drive for a while?" he offered.


	12. Chapter 12

Letting Go Chapter 12

**Those Who Stand and Wait – Missing Scene – SGC**

"How long, Sergeant?" The general snapped out the question before his feet had left the metal staircase at the back of the control room, his anxiety finally pushing him past his professional veneer of patience and steadfastness as scenarios drifted through his mind and fire laced his gut with pain. He knew how long it had been since SG-1 and 17's last check-in. He knew to the minute how many hours his teams were overdue. But he also knew that this customary give and take of command allowed the men and women left to sit helplessly on this side of the wormhole a small measure of comfort – a false sense of control when events out there, one step and a million miles away, remained completely out of their reach.

Hammond had waited, keeping himself busy throughout the night, attending to small, unimportant details of the base that could easily be shunted to any number of subordinates as the hours dragged on. It was a milk run – a visit with friendly allies and a shakedown mission for Mansfield's newly formed command. He snorted to himself. One where, he hoped, the rigid, by the book major would learn a lot more from watching Jack O'Neill in action than he would from the close-mouthed Tok'ra. But it wasn't concern for his military troops that had rocked him, that had kept him on-base and in his office, trying without much success to free his conscience from blame and make peace with the decisions made based on Ren'Al's word and O'Neill's bitterness.

No. It was the memory of determined blue eyes, the uncompromising set of his chief civilian's shoulders, and the sour taste of wrong choices, wrong judgment, and wrong conclusions made by and for this man that had tied him to his chair.

Harriman hadn't left, either. The airman did not bother to look at the clock as his hands flew over the controls. "They're eight hours overdue, sir. No word from Colonel O'Neill, the Tok'ra, or Doctor Jackson."

Hammond crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet. Daniel Jackson. Brilliant linguist, accomplished archaeologist, stubborn peacemaker, and reluctant soldier. Off on what could easily be a suicide mission behind enemy lines with only one old, cantankerous, alien-compromised retired general as back-up. What the hell had brought them to this?

Jack O'Neill seemed to be as stunned as he was during their last conversation via the MALP they'd stationed at the Revanna 'gate. It had not been a typical convoluted Tok'ra plot after all – they really were insistent that Daniel play an undercover role at the Goa'uld summit meeting in order to test their new poison while possibly eliminating every major Goa'uld leader in the galaxy. And Daniel had agreed to do it.

He could read the fury and frustration in his 2IC's strident voice and pinched features through the tinny audio connection and the small viewscreen. The man had convinced himself – and Hammond – to see this through. To send Daniel Jackson through the wormhole to Revanna and into the Tok'ra's hands believing that either the Tok'ra would reveal some more devious plot or the civilian's good sense and well-honed ethics would prevail.

He should have known. Dammit. Hammond's eyes narrowed at the memory. The aura surrounding Daniel during their last meeting before the mission, the way the scholar's restless gaze barely met his, the echo of self-reproach in his carefully chosen words and the sharp scent of betrayal in his easy acceptance of his fate.

_The young man had seemed so young, sitting there across the desk in his non-military clothes. So young and so at sea among the tight creases, hardened steel, and spit shines of the American military. And yet Daniel's exceptional mind had seemed to grasp the underlying repercussions of this mission better than his special-ops trained commander._

"_Son." He'd called him 'son.' No other SGC member took up such a large soft spot in Hammond's heart. The young man had been practically vibrating with tension, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. At the moment, Hammond had been concerned, siding with O'Neill in his assessment of Daniel's ability to follow through. "This mission…" He'd taken a deep breath and tried to give the civilian an opportunity to bow out or at least voice his doubts or worries. "Well, it's not exactly what we usually ask you to use your linguistic talents for."_

"_No, sir."_

_Daniel's words were clipped, uttered with a hint of a cold smile. Hammond had straightened. "Do you think you're up to it, son? I will not give this mission a 'go' unless you're one hundred per cent sure."_

Hammond breathed out a long, silent sigh. A quick reassurance, another empty smile, and Daniel had been out the door, slipping past O'Neill without a word, back straight and chin up. And, a few hours later, he'd walked up the ramp to the wormhole at Teal'c's side without a backwards glance. He remembered standing there in the control room, eyes searching the bare back wall of the 'gate room through the lifeless alien ring long after the wormhole had disengaged, as sure as he'd ever been in his long career that they were making one of the biggest mistakes in the history of the program.

He nodded to himself. "Let's dial it up, Airman. See if we can raise the colonel."

"Yes, sir." Harriman's relief was obvious.

The outer ring began its grinding circuit, steam rising, anticipation crackling among the technicians. The SFs in the 'gate room seemed poised, eager.

"Chevron One encoded."

**Welcoming Committee – Arrival on Revanna – Expanded Scene**

In the tense, silent cockpit, Daniel had fought off sleep, fought against the weight of his exhaustion long enough to excuse himself and down another stimulant before they arrived at the planet. The familiar zinging along his nerves was a comfort, and his fingers recovered their dexterity long enough to give Jacob another chance to rest before they entered orbit and had to deal with whatever they found there. The two seemed to have called an unannounced truce – Daniel couldn't blame Jacob – or Selmac – for all of the things that had gone so massively wrong, not when he saw his own culpability, his own incompetence so very clearly. Daniel smiled to himself – he made a pretty lousy spy, and an even worse soldier.

That Jacob needed rest confounded him.

They were both on edge as the cargo ship came out of hyperspace above the planet. A strange chirping noise drew his eyes away from the menacing bulk of the mother ship in orbit.

"We're getting an alert from the surface," Jacob announced.

From the Tok'ra? From SG-1? "What's it say?"

Jacob's voice was too light, too even. "'The base has been compromised. Assume no survivors'."

Daniel strained to swallow in his dry throat. It was a Tok'ra warning filled with the same fatalistic tone that he'd heard from them before. Cut their losses. Assume the worst. A message from Jack – from SG-1 – would have sounded different. It would have contained details of the enemy forces, a place to rendezvous. Jack never assumed that they couldn't escape from the Goa'uld – even when he probably should.

Jacob sighed. "We should get out of here."

No. They couldn't just leave. He wouldn't leave them behind. Daniel turned to demand … something, anything, another plan, a moment to think, dammit, when another chime sounded in the silent cabin.

"We're getting another signal."

"What is it?"

Jacob's eyes brightened, a hesitant smile flashing across his face. "It's an SOS."

An SOS – old Earth style Morse code – the military equivalent of arms waving in the air, shouting, "Hey, we need help!" Daniel felt his heart beat hard in his chest.

"Well, that has to be Jack or Sam."

Jacob nodded. "Hopefully both. And more." He placed both hands on the controls, suddenly animated, confident again. "Let's ride."

The ship dived through the atmosphere, riding the currents through the massive cloud bank. And then it shuddered – once, twice – bright flames of Goa'uld weapons searing past the view screen. Daniel smelled smoke and steadied his hands against the console as vibrations shook through the ship.

"What the hell-"

"We've been hit," Jacob snapped, hands busy with the controls, "our cloaking mechanism has failed." A loud bang and a cloud of smoke erupted from the engine compartment behind them. "They must have locked onto our heat signature as we passed through the atmosphere," he shouted.

Daniel's hands hovered over his own controls, but the lighted readouts flickered in time to the sharp cracks and sparks from their rear, finally dying out altogether. He wedged himself into his seat, both arms braced.

"I can't shake them," Jacob yelled, "I'm diverting power to the shields – we're losing altitude, fast."

He could see that – the trees seemed to leap up at them through the clouds, reaching up to pull them to the ground, weapons fire still leaving scorching trails through the ozone all around them. Too fast – they were going too fast. The ship bucked and heaved, slamming him back against the seat.

"Hang on, Danny, we're going in!"

They hit the trees, the sound of the huge trunks snapping sounding like breaking bones in Daniel's ears. Light flashed – Jacob shouted something else, but he couldn't make it out. Dark, bitter laughter welled up – some rescue party they were turning out to be. The ground slapped up at them, slamming him backwards and then forwards. His stomach lurched, and then – a sharp pain in his head – blackness.

**Some Kind of Rescue – Revanna – Expanded Scene**

Jack turned, his sharp gaze raking the darkening sky. He'd heard it – he knew he'd heard it. The sound was unmistakable to any flyboy. More death gliders? Troop carriers? The mothership itself? His hands flexed against his weapon – two P90s, a few sticks of ammo, their sidearms and one Jaffa staff weapon. Dammit – they just couldn't be lucky enough to stay hidden until Jacob and Daniel came through with the big rescue scene, could they?

"There!" Teal'c pointed towards the sky.

Huh. Jack watched the cargo ship nosedive towards the trees, smoke billowing out behind, its death glider pursuit leveling off and then making tracks back towards the Stargate. Looked like the big rescue scene was out altogether.

"Carter, you stay here with Elliot." He didn't need to look to know that Teal'c was right behind him.

They loped through the underbrush until they'd found the huge swath the ship had cut on its descent. Jack kept his eyes on the sky, knowing that the Goa'uld wouldn't assume that the ship's passengers had been killed. The death gliders would return to finish the job. Or the snakeheads would send a ground assault – or both.

"Do you believe it to be Jacob Carter and Daniel Jackson, O'Neill?"

Jack flashed a glance beside him, Teal'c's tense posture and ready weapon confirming his own deductions about enemy movement.

"Who else?"

"Could it not be a Tok'ra rescue party?"

Jack ground his teeth together. "Yeah, 'cause those guys are just so likely to stick their necks out for us, buddy." Nope. A bunch of short-sighted, strategy-void, know-it-alls who couldn't come up with one human from their ancient intergalactic spy ring to take their poison to the Goa'uld summit. No way. The Tok'ra were users – they took people and squeezed out every possible ounce of usefulness and then threw them away. Ole Martouf, he hadn't been so bad. Then Sha'nauc. And now, Daniel.

"Perhaps it is not for us, O'Neill, but to reacquire the formula for the symbiote poison."

"Okay, I can buy that," Jack allowed, "but you're totally killing my optimistic mood, here, T." He didn't bother to look at what he knew would be a firmly raised eyebrow.

"You find it optimistic to believe that the ship that was meant for our rescue has just crashed into this planet, possibly stranding Jacob Carter and Daniel Jackson along with us?"

Jack pulled ahead. "Oh, for crying out loud…"

**Welcoming Committee – Arrival on Revanna – Expanded Scene**

Hot. Heat seared along his left arm, waking him with sharp sparks of pain and light. Daniel jerked backwards, denying the throbbing in his head, squinting against the brightness. The display screen on the console next to him erupted into cracking flashes of flame and needle-thin fragments of plastic and he raised his arm to shield his face.

The pilot's seat was empty. Jacob.

His thoughts swam, hazy and clouded like the stale air in the cabin, until he caught sight of the ornate robes and slippered feet at awkward angles on the floor behind the pilot's chair.

"Jacob." Barely a breath. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Jacob."

A long thin gash along the man's head trickled bright red blood. Daniel swarmed from his seat, adrenaline pulsing through him, and pushed past the throbbing fog inside his head, the aches and stings that announced themselves as he maneuvered himself over the wreckage to kneel beside Jacob's motionless form.

Was that …. Yes, Jacob's head tilted to one side, his eyes blinking slowly. Alive. He was alive. And, with Selmac's help, any injuries would heal. "Hey, you okay?"

Jacob raised his head and then let it fall back against the floor, eyes closed. "Not really," he groaned.

Daniel stifled a cough, the smell of fried circuits and weapons' hits filling the small space. He had to move, get Jacob outside, away from the ship – the Goa'uld would be back. He looked around at the damage, hoping the hatch mechanism was still functioning. A burning sensation in his arm had him frowning down at Yu's armband where it slid over his blistered and bleeding flesh. He twisted his arm, flinging the badge of Yu's ownership into the bowels of the ship.

Glancing down, he saw that Jacob had bent both knees, moving slowly but steadily, and he sighed, relieved that the Tok'ra would be able to walk. "Yeah," he began, awkwardly trying to find an unbruised area on the other man so he could help him to his feet, "you'd think a race advanced enough to fly around in a spaceship would be smart enough to have seatbelts, huh?"

He levered Jacob into a sitting, and then standing position.

"Uh, I'd just prefer not to crash," the Tok'ra murmured, still dazed, uncertain on his feet.

Daniel frowned, worried. "Come on, we gotta get out of here." He slid his arm around Jacob's waist to steady him, bringing the Tok'ra's left arm around his shoulders. He half-dragged, half-carried him towards the hatch, moving slowly, waiting while Jacob fumbled at the control mechanism, and then helping the Tok'ra stumble over the gouged and broken earth away from the ship.

They'd just made it around the bulk of the wreckage when Jacob suddenly became heavier in his arms. "Jacob?" He tried to hold on, to keep him upright, but the dragging weight awakened very bruise and slammed his headache outward against his skull.

"Sorry, Danny," the older man panted, pain seared across his face as he slid to the ground, "just … gotta rest … a minute …"

Daniel knelt, head down, eyes screwed shut, willing the dizziness to fade, the pain to subside. "Yeah, good idea," he whispered, for once agreeing with the stubborn old Tok'ra.

It took only a moment for the steadily falling rain to soak through Daniel's thin clothes and set up a pattern of chattering teeth and shaking fingers. He raised his head just enough to eye the broad leafy boughs at the edge of the crumpled path. They might provide some shelter. It wasn't that far. He struggled to get one foot beneath him and placed one hand on Jacob's heaving chest.

"Come on. Over there," he muttered, jerking his chin towards the shadowed forest.

Jacob's head wobbled back and forth. "No. I'm good. You go ahead."

Frowning, Daniel patted the other man's cheek. "Hey, Selmac, tell Jacob to get moving."

A hesitant grin curled the Tok'ra's mouth. "He's a little tired, Danny."

Jacob's voice, unblended by Selmac's echoing tones. "He's – why?" Daniel crouched next him, shielding his face from the rain. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Jacob's smile disappeared. "We just need a little time."

Time. Selmac should be busy healing Jacob; that Daniel could understand. But unless the body's injuries were far more extensive than it seemed, the symbiote should be able to respond, to speak for himself. He tried to focus, to understand. Selmac was tired. Jacob was hurt – bruised, slammed to the deck by their uncontrolled landing. And the thin line of blood was still flowing from the shallow scalp wound.

Daniel's stomach turned and clenched and the slight tremors racing down his arms and legs turned into full-blown shivering. "He's tired because you healed me. And now, because he used up so much of his reserve healing me, he can't heal you." The words dropped like ice from his lips.

"No, Daniel-"

"That's right, isn't it, Jacob? Damn it." He pushed unsteadily to his feet and grabbed the Tok'ra beneath the arms, anger and frustration fueling his movements.

"Daniel, stop-"

He dragged the other man towards the tree-line, one step at a time, teeth clenched against his own pain. "I can't tell you - how tired I am," he huffed out in breathy spurts, "of people - making decisions - for me. Telling me what to do – what my job is – and how to do it –" he heaved again, making more progress now that Jacob was bending his knees, pushing against the ground with his feet. "Not giving – a shit – what I might – think – or want."

He propped Jacob's back against a tree, checking him over carefully before collapsing next to the injured Tok'ra, breathing hard, sweat mixing with the rain to film his vision.

A hand fell against his knee, but he refused to meet Jacob's gaze.

"What, Daniel. Did you think that Selmac and I would just let you die? And, yes, you were dying, lying there in the ship, all torn up from what Yu and Osiris did to you _because_ of the job we – _I_ – insisted that you do."

Daniel turned, spearing the Tok'ra with eyes made ice and flint from too many days of struggling alone, too many hours spent inside his own head with his fears and fumbles, and too much anger and loss at his own inadequacies. "_Acceptable losses_, Jacob – me, Sarah, the Goa'uld hosts, the Jaffa – why is it suddenly different? Why am I now worth your life – and Selmac's?"

"That's not – dammit, Daniel," Jacob snatched his hand away to press it against his side, his eyes closed. He took a few long, slow breaths before he met Daniel's stare again. "First of all, Selmac is fine – tired, yes, but he'll be working on healing me any minute now. It's just going to take him longer than usual."

Daniel was silent, not quite sure whether to be relieved quite yet.

"And, more important, let an old soldier tell you about acceptable loss, will ya?"

Jacob waited, searching his face, the tired eyes concerned, insistent. Daniel frowned, hesitant. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, that he wanted Jacob to confirm just how the military mind considered human lives when they toted up their gains and losses.

"Okay," the former Air Force general began, "it's something that's in the back of a commander's mind during every mission, in every strategy session, and in every conflict. What will it cost to take that hill? How many men will be lost if we storm their trenches, or go into their caves? And weighing that risk against military goals will steal your soul if you're not careful." One pale hand nudged Daniel's leg. "You know that there's risk, Daniel, every time you go through that wormhole with SG-1. And that's a decision that you made yourself, isn't it? To be a part of a frontline military unit?"

Daniel nodded. "Yes. I did," he answered quickly, "I do." To get Sha're back. To explore. To be a part of something – a part of this team. But this time …

"But this time it was different, wasn't it?" Jacob voiced his thought.

"I – it wasn't –" Daniel shook his muddled head. Wasn't it? Questions unasked, threats unassessed, teammates absent – wasn't it different?

Jacob shifted closer. "Tell me something, Daniel. Do militant, extremist suicide bombers consider the loss of their lives acceptable losses?"

"Ah, I'm sure they do…"

"Sure," Jacob nodded. "All they care about – and all their commanders care about - is striking hard and fast on behalf of their particular philosophy. The bombers themselves never know the whole story, they just go in to do as much damage as possible, usually to civilians, and they're promised eternal rewards for doing it."

"What does that-" Daniel didn't follow, the trail of logic eluded him as he fought through the dark miasma of his mind.

"Daniel – that's exactly what we did this time. We sent you in there like a suicide bomber, unaware of all the risks, pretty much throwing your life away to do the most damage possible." Jacob's lips were a thin, white line. "All of us – George, Jack, the SGC, the Tok'ra – we pointed you at the Goa'uld like a weapon and set you off." He snorted derisively, "You. A weapon. Well, that's on us." He reached out, cold hands gripping Daniel's face, holding him steady, eyes blazing. "You, Daniel Jackson," Selmac's voice boomed through the dripping forest, "are not an acceptable loss."

Daniel couldn't move, couldn't pull back, couldn't argue. One question tormented him, echoed within his aching skull, sent his stomach into roiling tumult. Why? Why not?

Jacob must have seen the confusion behind his eyes, because he sighed, patting one of Daniel's cheeks before he dropped his hands. "Good commanders know that the loss of one life is incalculable. They don't take shortcuts, they don't ignore intel, and they don't use people up and throw them away. Only when there's no other way." He pressed both hands to the leaf-strewn ground and stood, grunting, using the tree behind him and Daniel's instinctively outstretched hands as anchors. "I know that, Selmac knows that – I'll even admit that Jack O'Neill knows that. But this time, we let our greed for gain overwhelm our better judgment."

"Jacob – I'm not – I don't understand." Daniel looped the Tok'ra's arm around his shoulders again, working on auto-pilot, the foundations for his place on SG-1, for his role on this mission that he'd painstakingly worked out over the past few days shaken and battered.

"Yeah, we know that, too." Jacob limped towards the dirt-filled trail. "But someday you will, and I hope, when you do, you'll forgive us."

Daniel moved along at his side, bewildered, disoriented, and decided to concentrate on getting the two of them as far from the downed ship as possible.

He kept his head down, watching his feet trudge through the mud and the flattened grasses, his light shoes coated with sludge making every step harder. After a while, Jacob took more of his own weight and moved more smoothly, his breathing evening out and losing the gasping, rattling quality that had been with them since the ship. The rain never stopped – changing from a fine, icy drizzle to a downpour and back again, every sound muffled by the steady beat of drops against the trees, the ground – them.

Jacob's quick tension in his grasp was his first warning, but by the time he'd raised his eyes, he could feel the wash of relief go through the Tok'ra. Daniel blinked and squinted at the two figures before him, cold, wet, hurting, and, above all, disbelieving that it could be true.

Jack. And Teal'c. Alive.


	13. Chapter 13

Letting Go Chapter 13

**Reunion – Extended Scene - Revanna**

Alive. Daniel was alive.

Jack shook his head, spraying water from his cap, eyes gratefully scanning his teammate, his upright, mobile, seemingly uninjured teammate squinting at him through the rain. All that worry – all that deep thinking, guilt, and remorse for nothing. Daniel was fine, as always, coming through fire and water unscathed. Untouched.

The man had the lives of a whole sackful of cats.

His lips curled into a rueful grin and he clapped one hand to Teal'c's back as if to say, 'See, I told ya so.' Naturally, the Jaffa ignored him.

"Are you injured?" Teal'c stepped closer to the two, doing his own visual assessment, his voice deep and soft with concern.

"I'll live," Jacob responded, one arm still braced across Daniel's shoulders.

Jack's eyes narrowed. That gash on Jacob's head could come with a concussion, and the long robes could cover any number of hidden injuries. Given enough time, the snake would heal him, but time was not something they had a lot of and lately Jack had come face to face with the limits of a Tok'ra symbiote's healing powers.

His gaze moved to his teammate's tired face. Daniel hadn't answered. And now he wouldn't meet Jack's eyes. Huh. So, maybe that heady sense of relief that had swept through him just a couple of minutes ago should be put on hold. For the moment.

"How's our ride?" Getting out of here was the priority. Everything else could wait. Talk, explanations, apologies – they'd wait.

Jacob grimaced. "It's not going anywhere fast."

Jack nodded. Of course not. He gestured towards the path that led back towards Carter and Elliot. The almost stifled groan behind him made him turn. "You guys up to a stroll?" His gaze flickered back and forth between Jacob and Daniel, both standing there, expressions shuttered, obviously unwilling to give away any weakness.

"Sure."

It was the first word that Daniel had spoken. And it cut straight through to Jack's heart. He watched, worry seeping back along his nerves, as Daniel tightened his hold around Jacob's waist and moved slowly off. That one word had been layered with so much … so much regret? Frustration? Exhaustion? He shook his head again. He used to be able to read Daniel like a book, anticipate every reaction, and predict every argument. Well, this whole situation sure proved that he'd lost that ability along the way. The bitterness of their last exchange before Daniel headed out to infiltrate the System Lords sure went a long way towards convincing Jack that the friendship was anything but solid, that the assumptions and beliefs he'd held about what made Daniel tick, what filled his eyes with the joy of discovery or turned him into a pissy, strident antagonist were way off.

Who exactly crawled out of the wreckage of that cargo ship with Jacob? Who stood there, the drenched slave costume plastered to his pale skin, supporting the Tok'ra with a single-minded intensity and barely a single word? What the hell had happened on that space station?

He looked up into Teal'c's troubled brown eyes. "Keep an eye on them, T," he murmured.

"Indeed."

Jack jogged forward, taking point, listening for movement among the trees, for the tramp of marching feet, for the telltale sound of gliders, and hearing only the ragged breathing of the two men just behind him.

"So, I've gotta ask 'cause you two don't exactly have that 'The Wicked Witch is Dead' air about you – have we achieved dead System Lords?" Jack glanced backwards in time to see Jacob peer sideways at Daniel's guarded face. "Jacob?"

"We ran into some … unanticipated problems," the Tok'ra finally admitted through tight lips. "But, to answer your question, no. The System Lords are still alive."

Uh huh. No surprise there. Another so well laid Tok'ra plan shot to hell. "Well, that sounds like a story," he quipped. Not an assassin, then. Jack's mind churned with the weirdly opposite surges of relief and disappointment. Daniel had managed to avoid the soul-scarring, conscience fraying act of mass destruction. That was good, wasn't it?

"One for another day, Jack," Jacob grunted. "How's Sam?"

"Major Carter is well," Teal'c assured him quickly. "She and Lieutenant Elliot await us ahead."

"What about the others?"

Jack turned again at Daniel's question, meeting his teammate's concerned blue gaze. "No others," he answered softly, "at least, none that we know of."

The gasp forced between Daniel's lips was filled with pain and grief. The archaeologist stumbled to a halt, Jacob's forward movement nearly tearing him from his grasp. Jack stopped, waiting out Daniel's reaction, waiting for some clue about what was going on in his head.

"Come on, Danny," Jacob murmured, pulling away to stand on his own, one hand tight on Daniel's shoulder. "We gotta keep moving."

His brow furrowed into deep grooves, gaze unfocused, Daniel seemed to use every bit of reserve energy to pull himself together. "Right. Of course."

The anxious blue eyes looked to Jacob first, Jack noticed. Straightening, Daniel nodded. "Let's go."

Retreat. Rendezvous. Rescue. Jack planted one foot in front of the other. Jacob was right – everything else was a story for another day.

**Homes Fires – Missing Scene – SGC**

"There's no signal from the MALP, General," Harriman intoned, pushing at the controls. "No radio signal, no transmission whatsoever."

"So, there's either some kind of technical problem or …"

"Or the MALP has been destroyed, sir."

Hammond's teeth clenched. Let's try to raise them with a direct connection, Sergeant."

"Sir, unless they're on the surface within a few miles of the 'gate…"

He grabbed the microphone as if he could strangle it into submission. "I'm aware of that, Airman."

Harriman flicked a switch. "Yes, sir. Go ahead, sir."

"SG-1, SG-17, this is Hammond. Report."

The sounds of the base – the echoes of alarms, the ever present sighing of the air filters, the electronic backwash of the controls and monitors seemed to grow in the eerie silence.

"Repeat. Any SG member within range, report."

Every motion stopped.

"Nothing, sir." Harriman finally reported.

Standing, Hammond nodded at the 'gate technician. "Very well. Shut it down." It took less than a second to make his decision. "Have Sergeant Siler prepare a UAV. Report to me when it's in place."

"Yes, sir."

**Another Reunion – Extended Scene - Revanna**

All dead. Every Tok'ra on Revanna, every member of SG-17 except for Elliot. Daniel kept moving, unconsciously reaching out to steady Jacob when he seemed to waver, never realizing that the closeness of the other man helped to steady him as well.

The worry and blame, the beatings, the pain handed out by Yu, the humiliation, Jacob's injuries, the scouring of Revanna – the entire mess of a mission had been for nothing. The System Lords alive and well, the Tok'ra decimated, SG-17 dead, and SG-1 stranded here, their hopes for rescue left in a smoking crater in the ground behind them. He closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to shore up his control, but he couldn't quite find the energy.

If he'd just used the poison right away. If he'd only stopped focusing on his own misgivings, if he'd only concentrated on the mission, like he was supposed to, on Jacob's orders and the SGC's expectations – if he'd only ignored the gnawing in his gut when he'd seen Sarah's face or if he'd simply accepted his own complete inability to save her. Even if he couldn't escape the lo'taurs' reactions, even if it had gone wrong for him, Jacob would have returned in time to save … someone … wouldn't he?

Even suicide bombers made an impact.

But not him. Not Daniel Jackson. '_Not exactly incapable._' Jack and Hammond had been wrong – that was exactly what Daniel was. When had he become so selfish?

They stumbled into the clearing and Daniel saw the exhaustion in Sam's face replaced by relief and concern for her father. And then he saw Elliot – laying there, his green BDUs melding with the leaf mould, his skin like wax, pale eyes barely flickering with consciousness. Jack hadn't said that he'd been hurt, that he'd been – God, he looked half dead.

He stopped a few feet away from Sam and Jacob's reunion, knowing Jack was at his side but unable to look away from the young airman's limp form. Sam's voice carried through the still air.

"He's in rough shape. He got injured during a cave in, Lantash went into him to try and save him but it's not working."

Lantash – Martouf's symbiote. He'd been left near death when his human host was killed. And now he was in a critically injured Elliot. Daniel frowned, unable to line his thoughts up in any order.

Jacob shook his head. "There's a chance we might be able to save the cargo ship but not before this whole area is swarming with Jaffa. Those gliders definitely made our position."

Teal'c's voice drew Daniel's head up. "We cannot escape through the Stargate."

No. Daniel knew that. He and Jacob had seen the massive numbers of troops and ships surrounding the metal ring on their crippled descent through the atmosphere. Jaffa and Goa'uld had positioned themselves right on top of the only escape. Without some kind of enormous military strike, they'd never get through.

Suddenly, the fog of confusion cleared and Daniel's hand went to the pouch at his waist. Of course. It was an almost poetic solution. He still had the poison, he was still wearing the costume of a slave, not of a Tau'ri soldier, and Osiris' troops were directing the attack, just as she'd said on the space station. He'd intended to kidnap Osiris, to take her back to the Tok'ra. Instead, all he had to do was let Osiris' troops take him, capture him for Osiris. And once he was in the midst of them, near the Stargate, he'd release the poison. It was perfect.

He pulled the vial from his pouch. "We still have this."

Jacob huffed out a breath and placed his hands on his hips. "As much area as that will cover I don't think the chemical will spread from here to the Stargate."

Sam glanced between them. "Well we can't release it here; it will kill you, Elliot, and Teal'c."

Daniel shook his head. They didn't understand. He could do this – he had to do this. It was right, fitting. It could be his redemption.

Jack's voice startled him. "Then I guess I've got to figure out a way to get it to the 'gate."

What? No! He turned to face him, his commander - his one-time best friend - and saw the resolution in the dark eyes. Dammit, Jack, don't you see that it's not for you to be the hero this time? A familiar anger flared within him. It was like they didn't even see him. He wanted to shout, to stamp his feet, to make them understand, but the words were caught in his throat.

"It's suicide. You're assuming the Jaffa won't shoot you on sight."

Jacob was right. They'd see Jack's uniform and know. Every System Lord, every Jaffa, knew the uniform of the SGC and of SG-1. But Daniel had proven that he could play the slave, hadn't he? That he could speak and act the cowed submissive, completely harmless before the might of the Goa'uld. He turned to Jacob, catching his eye, trying to will him to understand. The Tok'ra's eyes widened and then Jacob shook his head, his flinty stare an obvious refusal to listen.

Yes, Jacob, it has to be me. "I- "

Teal'c cut him off. "Given the lack of cover and the size of the Jaffa army, I do not believe even I could make it to the Stargate undetected."

I don't need to be undetected, Daniel thought. He tried again. "But-"

"Leave it here with me."

Elliot. Gasping, barely awake, and he was offering himself up to the Goa'uld.

Jack's voice was dry, all emotion carefully drained away. "What good will that do?"

"Leave here and hide." The airman took a painful breath. "The Jaffa will find me. I'll tell them I know the formula, they'll take me to the 'gate."

Daniel could only stare, unmoving, the poison clutched tightly in his outstretched hand.

Teal'c broke the silence. "He is correct. He will be taken to the base camp by the Stargate before being sent to the mothership."

No, this couldn't be happening, Daniel thought. It was meant to be him.

"Won't they search him first?" Jack asked.

"Then I'll …Then I'll set off the weapon, take out as many as I can." Elliot was fading, his voice reedy and thin, his eyes obviously almost too heavy to keep open.

Daniel couldn't look away, wouldn't look away from the young man's courage. He pressed his lips together, unwilling to give voice to his own need, his own desire to see this farce of a mission through selfishly as _he_ wanted to. To have it end on his terms. He swallowed the bitter hope and searing denial of his unwanted, unneeded sacrifice. This wasn't about him.

The pale eyes blazed faintly. "Please. We're both going to die. I cannot save us." Elliot's head fell against the tree, his – Lantash's - gaze searching Sam's face where she crouched beside him. "But there's a chance we can save you."

Daniel heard the pain, the grief, the remorse in the symbiote's voice. And he felt an answering wound still weeping blood within his own soul. Lantash had lost his mate – and would now, with this sacrifice, be able to save Sam, the only echo of Jolinar that was left. How could Daniel deny him that chance? What he would have given to be able to save Sha're … or Sarah.

"What about Elliot?" Jack demanded.

It was clear when the symbiote had left the dying airman in control. His eyes opened wider, his mouth opened and closed, struggling for words. "It doesn't make sense for any of you to risk your lives to try and save me. Give me the device."

His stare pierced through Daniel's sorrow. He glanced towards Jack, asking. Jack looked away; eyes shuttered, mouth grim, and nodded. Daniel bent down and let the poison slide into Elliot's hand, letting his fingers linger on the airman's ice cold ones, trying to communicate his gratitude, his humility, and his understanding.

Elliot might have tried to smile. "Now, go. They'll be here soon."

Daniel watched Sam place her hand against Elliot's cheek, saw the respect there, the silent communication, the bond that tied her to both of the individuals lying there.

"He's happy now; he just wanted you to know how he felt," Elliot whispered.

"I do," Sam replied softly. "And I'll never forget him. Or you."

No. Neither would he, Daniel nodded. He glanced over at Jacob. Was this an acceptable loss?

The soaring moan of a death glider was loud overhead.

"Ground forces will not be far behind," Teal'c warned.

"Sam we have to go," Jacob reached down to pull his daughter to her feet.

Elliot fumbled with the device, finally placing it within a vest pocket, his breathing harsh. Teal'c, Sam, and Jacob walked off, and Daniel turned, reluctantly, his gaze on Jack's solemn face. He saw sadness there. And anger. And, finally, resignation.

One human life – one Tok'ra life. He had been right back on the space station, staring around him at the dead faces of the Goa'uld hosts, of their simpering, manipulating slaves. Jacob had been right on the cargo ship. One life's worth was incalculable, and no loss could ever be considered acceptable. But, somehow, Daniel knew, Jack's soul toted up each priceless man or woman lost under his command and held that burden tightly.

But, this loss, a loss that could have been avoided, this shame and guilt and bitter self-recrimination – this was Daniel's to bear alone.


	14. Chapter 14

Letting Go Chapter 14

**Help and Hopelessness – Episode Tag - Revanna**

Jacob crouched down in the lee of a sheltering tree, pulling at his robes and hoping the new day would bring with it some heat, at least enough to dry his sodden clothes. He raised his eyes to the clear sky, empty of gliders, tel'tacs, or motherships. Maybe the day would bring something he and this sad band of soldiers needed a whole lot more – some hope. Since the decisions made the night before, since Jack and Sam reported that the Jaffa had taken the bait in the form of a fatally injured young airman and they'd slipped into silence, Jacob had watched as the team he'd come to regard as an extension of his family had broken apart.

At least Elliot had been right. According to the colonel, the Jaffa had fallen on him hungrily, Zipacna's First Prime openly relieved to find the wounded Tok'ra, and determined to remove him to the Goa'uld's ship as quickly – and as gently - as his injuries allowed. After a cursory sweep of the surrounding area, the entire phalanx had moved off, and SG-1 had settled in to wait.

The night had been cold and wet and soundless, each individual wrapped up within his or her own thoughts, alternately sitting hunched beneath a broad-leaved tree, eyes closed in the semblance of sleep, or stalking restlessly around the perimeter, searching the darkness for threats – for answers – for any comfort from the images of the airman's sacrifice that filled their minds' eyes.

The dawn had been fitful; clouds pulled to tatters by a harsh wind, the sun red and bloated as it crawled up over the horizon, the trees all around them stripped of leaf and bark and showering the last of their moisture over the sullen group.

Jack O'Neill stood at the edge of their meager clearing, eyes and thoughts shielded by his sunglasses, fingers flipping the cover of his watch on and off, on and off. Sam had gone out just a few minutes earlier to scan the area, leaving Teal'c, clearly annoyed that his customary responsibility had been shifted to her shoulders, staring into the brush accusingly. Neither Jacob nor Teal'c could risk moving out until they knew where Elliot and the poison canister were located. They couldn't risk their symbiotes. Jacob shook his head in dark amusement.

'Are you well, Jacob?'

Selmac had slowly regained strength as the night wore on, greeting the morning as alert and present as he had ever been, and Jacob had reveled in his returned ease of movement, in his clear head and healed ribs.

'As well as can be expected, my friend,' Jacob replied, opening his thoughts and emotions to his symbiote completely, still amazed that his blending had changed him on such a fundamental level. He let his physical eyes close and lost himself, for the moment, in the unconditional friendship and acceptance that now stood at the heart of his life.

His and Selmac's thoughts and fears twined and merged, his concern for the symbiote's healing becoming one with Selmac's worry about Jacob's health. And then both minds turned towards the shattered team around them.

'There is much regret here, Jacob. Regret and guilt.'

Jacob sighed. 'Yeah, I know.'

'I have observed that, many times, these emotions are manifested in humans as anger or bitterness.'

Chuckling to himself, Jacob agreed. 'I guess you'd have some pretty good first-hand experience with that from me, huh, Selmac?'

Selmac's laughter felt like a warm blanket around his soul. 'You have come far since we first met.'

'Yeah, well, considering that a lot of your understanding of the Tau'ri has come from my warped brain, you're pretty damn smart yourself.'

Movement around him lifted Jacob from his inward focus. Sam was back. He stood and moved towards her, the group coming together in an awkward, off-balance huddle.

"No sign of them for miles, sir," she reported, taking off her cap and shaking one hand through her short hair. "The tracks lead in a fairly straight line in the direction of the Stargate."

The bruise-colored shadows beneath her eyes, the formal tone of her voice, the tension in her shoulders – it all told Jacob that his daughter was hurting. They hadn't talked much, yet, about what went on in the tunnels, how Lantash had come to take Lt. Elliot, what the symbiote and Sam had shared. Selmac grieved for an old friend, and Jacob grieved for his daughter's reminder of loss.

"Okay, here's the plan," Jack began, fingers stabbing the air. "Teal'c, you and Daniel head back to the transmitter with Jacob. We don't know what kind of range that poison has." He turned towards Jacob. "Do we?"

"Well, we've never tested it in the –"

"Yeah, we figured," Jack cut him off.

Jacob lifted his eyebrows, staring. "You gonna let me finish?" It would take more than a snarky colonel to get to him.

Jack quirked a wry half-grin and made 'give it to me' motions with one hand.

"We've never tested the poison in the field, but Ren'Al theorized that it a small quantity – like what's in the canister – would spread out for about ten miles around any 'gate we targeted. It dissipates fast – real fast – she told me an invasion force could proceed through an effected 'gate within thirty minutes."

"Nice," Jack drawled. "So Carter and I will trail the Jaffa and keep in radio contact. You three can follow along at a safe distance once we've cleared, say, fifteen miles, just to be sure. Check in every 30 minutes."

Jacob nodded. It was a sound plan, even if Teal'c was likely to chafe under the restraints. Daniel stood back a step from the group, arms wrapped around the jacket Teal'c had forced him to accept during the long night. The archaeologist's gaze was darting from one face to the other and then quickly away, and the Tok'ra narrowed his eyes, seeing how Daniel's teammates' gazes never quite met his anxious stare. Another twist worried at his gut.

"Okay – let's move out."

"Wait – I should go with you and Sam, Jack."

Daniel's voice was quiet but firm and Jacob held his breath in anticipation. An argument between these two stubborn men would be a return to normalcy, wouldn't it? At least someone would be talking.

O'Neill turned away, pulling on a set of fingerless gloves. "No, Daniel-"

"Jack, you might need someone to translate Goa'uld and Teal'c certainly can't go."

"We'll radio if we have a problem." Jack still wouldn't turn around. Jacob – and Selmac within him – tensed at the deliberate rebuff. "Carter – move out."

"We shall await your word, O'Neill," Teal'c rumbled, an edge of frustration clear in his tone and on his scowling face.

Beside him, Daniel just wrapped his arms tighter around his chest and dropped his chin, missing Sam's fleeting concerned gaze. Jacob offered her a tight smile.

The watery Revanna sun did its best to warm the drenched earth, the steady wind whipping their clothes against their bodies as the three moved towards their goal. Teal'c strode powerfully ahead, one hand clasped tightly to his staff weapon, the muscles in his back jumping with tension. Jacob began to slow his steps, Daniel, at his side, unconsciously matching him step for step, until there was a good distance between them and the focused Jaffa. Selmac watched quietly within him, as eager as Jacob to begin a healing process within these people, and, especially, within the young man beside him.

"What did you think you were doing, Daniel?"

Blue eyes blinked at him, bloodshot and dry-looking, a crease deepening between the eloquent brows. "What?"

Jacob jerked his chin to the side. "Last night. You were going to volunteer to be taken prisoner by the Goa'uld. I didn't think you'd be in such a hurry to reprise your role of assassin."

Daniel closed his mouth sharply and looked away.

Leaning in, Jacob let his voice drop to a whisper. "I know, Danny. I understand."

The archaeologist walked faster. "Jacob-"

"You don't have to be a hero, Daniel," he insisted, one hand reaching out to stop the young man's determined pace. "You have nothing to prove, here."

"No?"

The bitterness of that single syllable was chilling. Daniel turned to face him, the uncertainty in his bearing and the defeat in his slumped shoulders ramping up Jacob's worry.

"No. Not to me and not to them."

A heart-breaking laugh slipped from his lips. "You're wrong, Jacob. Unbelievably wrong." He stabbed one finger in the general direction of the Stargate. "From the moment Ren'Al set foot in the SGC, from the second this mission began," his voice was raw, wounded, "in every ill-conceived thought and stupid assumption I made about myself, about what I should do, what I _could_ do-" he broke off abruptly, shaking his head. "I've failed at every turn."

"Daniel-"

"No – listen to me, Jacob." Anger fought with despair in the narrowed eyes. "Listen – for once."

He stilled beneath the archaeologist's suppressed wildness, the desperate hold he kept around himself – both physically and mentally, Selmac's inner voice urging him to be patient, to hear Daniel out.

"I've always been the weak link in this chain, Jacob. I know that," Daniel spat, "everyone knows that. And I could have just followed orders this time, focused on the goal like you all told me I should. But I didn't. And now Elliot and SG-17 are dead, the Tok'ra are dead, the System Lords have joined in an alliance, and Sarah's still a prisoner." The smile that began to grow was brittle and loathsome. "Proving myself, proving to Jack and Sam and the general that I can still contribute, that I can handle the hard missions and make the tough decisions, now," he shook his head again, "after all this? I don't know if … It's hard enough to …" He broke off, jaw clenching.

Jacob scrambled for a response, searching his mind, straining for Selmac's wisdom. 'I am sorry, Jacob,' Selmac submitted sadly, 'but it is not the others that Daniel Jackson must convince of his own worth. There are no words that will shore up this man's self-belief. Not right now.'

A sense of foreboding horror gripped him, the fear that, this time, the failure of a mission could lead to a greater, more profound failure than any one of them could have foreseen.

"Is there something wrong, Daniel Jackson?"

Teal'c's question cut the thick aura of dread surrounding them and Daniel's hands dropped to his sides.

"No. Nothing."

"Very well. We must continue our journey."

Jacob heard the Jaffa move off, never taking his eyes from the wounded man at his side.

Daniel looked away, eyes searching the horizon as if for strength. "One more thing, Jacob," he said after a moment, speaking to the wind.

"Whatever I can do, Daniel."

The smile had nearly reached his eyes when Daniel turned back. "They already know I screwed up, Jacob, so, if you could just forget about the injuries you and Selmac healed, well, at least they'd have one less thing to … fuss over."

Selmac restless within him, Jacob pressed his lips together, anxious to refuse. "I don't want to do that, Daniel."

"I know."

The archaeologist didn't wait for another answer, just headed off, following the trail left by his teammate. Jacob watched his determined back recede.

'What the hell, Selmac,' he whispered, soundlessly.

'To choose one of your own phrases, my friend,' Selmac answered, 'this is not good.'

"No," Jacob spoke aloud. "No, it isn't."

**Compromised – Episode Tag - SGC**

The spit of exhaust clouded the control room window for a moment as the small drone launched straight for the shimmering blue pool. Every eye followed it, rapt, as if by the SF's and techs' sheer intensity they could breach the distance to Revanna and find their missing teams.

It was that intensity, and the hushed, expectant atmosphere in the mountain that illustrated how SG-1 and its individual members sat at the very heart and soul of this command. Hammond couldn't acknowledge it – barely allowed himself to give the idea any freedom within his own mind – but it was an uncomfortable truth nonetheless.

Hammond shifted his gaze to the screen, fingers tapping impatiently against the seam of his trousers. The five second time lag between the reconnaissance vehicle's exit from the wormhole and receiving its telemetry had never seemed longer. For the last few hours, all of the major general's doubts – every decision, every move he'd made and order he'd given since the Tok'ra's appearance had been taken out, reexamined, and inspected with unrelenting scrutiny. Now, he forced his anxiety to the background, refusing to believe the worst. He'd spent the past hour reminding himself of SG-1's miraculous track record, instead.

"Transmission coming through now, sir. Be advised, it's still night on Revanna, it might be hard to make out details."

Static – snow – fuzzy images congealed and coalesced from the drone's cameras, resolving into dark mounds, figures, reflections from metal, swift movement.

"Bringing up infrared and night vision, sir."

The shapes and patterns suddenly made sense.

"Holy …" A strained whisper at Hammond's back was the only sound.

He flinched when the line of flame from a staff weapon engulfed the UAV, when its readouts fell abruptly to zero. The wormhole dissipated and the iris engaged before he could take a breath.

"Well, I suppose we have our answer," Hammond muttered. Goa'uld. Hundreds of Jaffa. Ships. All entrenched around the Stargate. "Get me a copy of what little we could see, Sergeant, and call in Ferretti and Reynolds – I want SGs 2 and 3 on base and their leaders in the briefing room in one hour."

"Sir?"

Harriman had turned concerned eyes his way, begging the question. What could they possibly do against a Goa'uld invasion force of that size?

Hammond rose and strode for the steps, his office, and the red phone, the worry he'd denied himself erupting within him. He'd greet the president and the joint chiefs with no answers, only questions this time. A far cry from the enthusiastic optimism of a few days ago when they'd all considered the possibility of a galaxy free of the Goa'uld System Lords. He threw himself into his chair and stared at the silent, brooding telephone at his left hand.

'The worst.' It was a laughably poor description of what he'd just seen. The Goa'uld had found the Tok'ra, had invaded their secret base just four days after Daniel Jackson had been sent as a spy among them. There was only one conclusion to draw.

Hammond clenched both hands into fists and slammed them both onto his desk. A moment later he raised the phone to his ear. "Get me the president."

**Fighting Their Way Back – Episode Tag – Revanna**

They jogged – they walked – trading off point and rear positions, angling away from each other and then moving back to cross paths. The Jaffa weren't exactly trying to hide their trail, and it had been nearly eight hours with still no sign of any rearguard. If the Jaffa had marched all night, Elliot could have reached the Stargate and released the poison hours ago. Or he could have died on route. Or the First Prime could have taken the poison and this whole chase through the forest, sneaking up on Jaffa while avoiding glowing clouds of death was just a cat and mouse game that the Goa'uld was playing – probably chuckling up his over-designed, sequined sleeve right now from his snake's eye view up in his mothership. Colonel Positive, that was him, he snorted. The sense of hovering dread that had been with Jack since, well, since Ren'Al made her appearance at the SGC and he had his first little pow-wow with General Hammond just wouldn't let go, even though, it looked like, maybe, they might just, possibly, maybe, have a slim chance, perhaps, a niggling little hope – and every other equivocation he could think of - of getting out of this mess alive.

He imagined climbing dead piles of ugly snake-heads and their Jaffa buddies to get to the Stargate. Yeah. Now that was an image he could get behind. He crouched and wiped the sweat from his forehead, clicking his radio twice to bring Carter up to his position. His breath was too short, his knees too stiff, his back too – aw, crap, he was definitely too old for this.

He reached for his canteen. Light. Nearly empty. They'd only refilled once since they'd begun this little jaunt at dawn. Jack twisted his lips to the side and groaned, settling the tempting moisture back firmly on his hip. Suck it up, flyboy, he told himself, suck it up.

A few minutes later Carter was at his side, breathing too damned easy for her own good.

"Sir?"

Jack squinted into the clear sky. "How far have we come, Major?"

"Approximately thirty-two klicks, sir, twenty miles or so."

Yeah, that last ridge had slowed them up. Slowed him up. Jack was sure that Carter was humoring him. "And no sign of Jaffa."

She rubbed her red nose on one sleeve. "None whatsoever, Colonel. Do you think …?"

Jack shifted, leaning heavily against a sturdy trunk at his back. "I'm trying not to think too much right now, Carter, that way, I'm always surprised," he intoned bitterly. Two twenty-five mile hikes in as many days – yep, he was having fun, now. "Hell, at least it isn't raining," he muttered.

Sifting the heavy sand through his fingers, he looked up at the red Revanna sun. Teal'c, Jacob, and Daniel were behind them by about four hours, keeping a careful distance. He glanced sideways beneath his sunglasses at Carter's closed-off expression. Yep. Sometimes that distance was all that kept them sane – he'd figured that out a long time ago. Carter needed it. Teal'c, too – he'd read it in the deep furrows of his scowl. And Jack, well, he couldn't do his usual faintly-friendly-sarcastic dance right now, not in the face of Elliot's death and a living, breathing Daniel back as if he'd never left.

All that deep thinking about loss and friendship and blame under the crumbling roof of the Tok'ra tunnels, promises made to himself – they'd shrunk back to a safe distance, too. He swept his sunglasses down to rest against his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose to combat the thumping behind his eyes.

"O'Neill."

Jack shook free of the clinging sense of unease that threatened to swamp him. He grabbed his radio. "Teal'c, come in."

"Jacob Carter has received a transmission from a remnant of the Tok'ra that escaped the bombardment."

Yeah, that figured. Just in time to be rescued. "Well, unless they've got a hold of some fancy weaponry, tell them to stay put until we find out what's going on at the 'gate."

"You do not understand, O'Neill. These Tok'ra are already at the Stargate. They report that the area has been secured."

"What?" Jack eyed his 2IC's startled face suspiciously. The _Tok'ra_ managed to secure the 'gate?

A whisper of voices sounded through the radio and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Teal'c – Jacob – anybody - care to explain?"

"Jack, the poison worked." Jacob's voice. "The few Tok'ra stragglers moved in about an hour ago - they've been, well, mopping things up, if you get my drift."

Mopping up. Translation - slitting any remaining Jaffa throats and making sure to gather up all good stuff that was lying around. "Copy that." He hesitated, a curl of grief in his belly. "Make sure they keep an eye out for Elliot." Carter looked away.

"We have informed them, O'Neill."

Jack stretched his legs out in front of him, left hand rubbing futilely at his aching knee. Looked like it was all over but the shouting. He leaned his head back against the tree behind him and blinked into the feeble sunlight. Funny, his gut didn't seem to think so.

oOo

Teal'c signed off and released his hold on his radio, hefting his staff weapon in his hand. Daniel blinked sandpaper eyes, watching curiously as his teammate's large figure seemed to recede into the distance and then snap towards him again, closer than ever. He clutched tightly to the lonely sapling at his side, his gaze skittering towards the uneven horizon which dipped and swayed like a drunken man. No wonder he was having trouble staying on his feet.

When the faint chirping had started a few minutes ago, he'd searched the sky and the few, scraggly trees around him for birds. When it happened again, he'd frowned and staggered, certain the pouch at his side hadn't come equipped with two turtle-doves. It was Jacob who'd grabbed at him, happily steadying him as he'd groped within the pouch for the forgotten Tok'ra communicator.

Oh. Right.

Daniel's stomach roiled, empty, but threatening to erupt bile all over the sandy earth. A memory nagged at him of shaking hands and a pale, lo'taur's face reflected in the polished steel of a mirror on board the space station. 'Every ten hours,' Jacob's voice repeated in his mind, 'or you'll crash pretty hard.'

Hot, frenzied fingers stabbed at the empty pouch, searching desperately as Teal'c turned to resume his journey. The stimulants. He needed another one. Just one – just one more and he'd be able to make it to the 'gate on his own two feet. An image of himself draped over Teal'c's broad shoulder as the team staggered down the ramp at the SGC widened his eyes and he renewed his search. No. Anything but that.

Relief chilled the sweat that stood out on his skin when his fingers slipped over the slick sides of one remaining capsule. Yes. He opened his palm and tried to focus his foggy vision on the blue pill. Something nibbled at the back of his mind, Jacob, placing the pill carefully in his hand, his expression grim. Daniel brushed the memory away as he brought his hand to his lips.

Fingernails dug into his skin, drawing blood.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jacob hissed into his face, eyes filled with fear.

"What? I need … it's my last one …" he stuttered as the Tok'ra grabbed the pill from his hand and threw it to the ground, grinding it to a powdery mess under his boot. "Hey!"

Jacob closed his eyes and drew one hand flat over his bald skull and Daniel realized that he was trembling. "Jacob? I just don't want to crash before we make it back – please?" Were all over-the-hill military officers such damned mother hens?

A moment later, Jacob dropped a tiny yellow pill into Daniel's hand, his face still too pale, his hands lingering a little too long. "Here, Danny. Try this one," he urged softly, almost gently.

Daniel sighed. "Thanks, Jacob."

The Tok'ra's arm slipped around his shoulders in an awkward half-hug. "It's okay, Daniel," Jacob whispered. "Just … stay close, okay?"

"Okay," Daniel agreed distractedly as he welcomed the familiar metallic taste at the back of his tongue. "Okay." He closed his eyes and let the older man lead him. Just for a minute.


	15. Chapter 15

Letting Go Chapter 15

**Assumptions - SGC – Continuing Tag**

Silence exploded in the general's office; the two military men sitting across Hammond's desk rigid with anger and dread, but under control so tightly it registered only as whitened knuckles and fierce stares. Hammond had expected no less.

"Sir –"

"There's no –"

The general held up one hand to forestall their comments and watched the commanders of SG-2 and 3 snap their mouths closed. A brief wave of sorrow threatened as he sent a swift prayer up to a God that George Hammond never doubted still watched over all sardonic colonels everywhere. What he wouldn't give to be faced with rolled eyes and an insubordinate smirk rather than such obedient officers. But …

"These are our orders, gentlemen. And," he nodded towards the screen to his right, still displaying the UAV's last transmission, "based on our limited information, it's the right tactical decision."

Lou Ferretti sat hunched forward in his chair, elbows digging into his thighs, his face reddening. "General – it might be the right 'tactical' decision, but I've seen the Doc – Doctor Jackson – under fire before, tortured by Ra's ribbon device, broken and bloody and he's-" He leapt to his feet and paced away from his commanding officer's scrutiny, clearly trying to hold back. He turned. "Sir, Doc's the most stubborn, obstinate damned bulldog that I've ever served with, military or not." He flung one arm out towards the Stargate, one floor down. "And we're all sitting here assuming that he's turned? That he's been busy the last few days filling in the unholy System Lords – the people who stole his wife for God's sake – on all our secrets?" The officer was nearly shouting now. "It's bullshit, sir."

"Colonel." Hammond turned the word into part warning, part absolution.

"I agree, General." Reynolds stood stiffly, unconsciously supporting his fellow officer's position physically as well as verbally. "And while I haven't served with Doctor Jackson as long as Lou, here, I don't believe he'd give up anything to compromise the base or SG-1, even under torture."

Hammond sighed, hands splayed on his desk. "All men break, Colonels," he stated quietly. "And the Goa'uld would not even need to resort to torture. All they'd need was a mature symbiote and Doctor Jackson would gladly turn over the keys to Earth, the SGC, and his own best friend without batting an eye."

"So, no offense, General, but why didn't we think of this before we sent him off on this, this _mission_?" Ferretti's contempt was obvious.

The general's gaze snapped to Lou Ferretti's accusing eyes. "We weighed the risks, Lieutenant Colonel Ferretti," Hammond emphasized the officer's rank, "and we do not have time to sit around second-guessing past decisions right now." His eyes narrowed as he watched the struggle between Ferretti's fury and his military discipline play out on the man's face. "Right now," Hammond continued in a careful, even tone, "we have to concentrate on damage control."

"Damage –"

Reynolds shot out one hand and gripped a handful of Ferretti's shirt before he could say any more. "You've already changed all the iris codes, General?"

"Yes." Hammond nodded towards the two chairs, silently ordering the two men back to their places. After a moment, Reynolds managed to force Ferretti to sit. "Computer codes, GDOs, passwords, even communication frequencies are being wiped and reissued. I also need a reading on recent briefings, long-term strategies and planning Doctor Jackson would have had access to. And," his lips thinned as he stared the two officers into stillness, "since we've had no word from SG-1 or 17, we're going to have to come up with contingency plans if Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, Teal'c, and Major Mansfield's team are also to be considered … compromised."

"Holy shit. Sir." Reynolds hastily added, his face pale.

"I concur, Colonel." The tight fist around Hammond's heart seemed to squeeze harder. His gaze fell to the file folder beneath his right hand – thick, worn, the letters on the cover faded. Just a name and a file number, the pages within barely scratching the surface of who Daniel Jackson was, or how much he'd contributed to this command, to these people. "Based on the timing of the Goa'uld attack, the Pentagon has declared Doctor Jackson a casualty of war and a danger to Earth. And until we have further word, or can make contact with the Tok'ra or our teams in the field, we're to take every precaution to assure that any damage his vital knowledge of this command could do is minimized."

Reynolds gaze flashed an apology in his friend's direction. "Doctor Jackson knows which teams are currently deployed, sir. Complements, personnel, he probably has a basic understanding of their weapons and technical resources as well."

"SG-6, 9, and 15 have been contacted and will be returning within the next few hours." The general nodded at the officer's quick thinking. "And Major Walker and SG-4 came in half an hour ago and are awaiting medical clearance in the infirmary. No other teams are currently off world."

"What about a rescue mission, sir?"

Hammond saw the determination blazing behind Ferretti's eyes and in the passion in his speech, but shook his head, gesturing towards the massive Goa'uld attack force displayed on the video screen. "Against that, Lou?" he whispered. "I will not throw good men's lives away on a suicide mission."

He dismissed his team leaders to brief their men, his last words searing a path from his gut into his throat, their taste like acid on his tongue. No, Hammond pressed one hand against his burning chest. He'd already done that.

**Survivors of Duty – Revanna – Continuing Tag**

Black smoke rose slowly in the heavy air, hanging in a rancid fog over the valley. Teal'c's shoulders tightened as he stood on the scarred ridge and scanned the edge of the flattened soil where the Goa'uld strike forces had once gathered, each burning pyre that dotted the landscape boiling up the oily smell of dead flesh to be taken by the relentless wind. Funeral pyres. His eyes watered as his gaze took in the slow moving figures of ashen-faced Tok'ra attending to the traditional Jaffa rites. He would not have expected it of them.

The Jaffa of Zipacna and Osiris had been decimated, slaughtered by the Tok'ra poison. Each pyre held many bodies, and many still lay as they had fallen, in heaps and mounds, muscles frozen, leaving the dead in poses that spoke of pain and confusion, hands curled against their bellies, mouths wide open, bloated tongues jutting from lips of blue and grey. Dark tattoos stood out against their skin and Teal'c's heart cracked at the thought of so many of his brothers dying while still lashed to the yoke of the false gods. He watched as a pair of Tok'ra women placed a dead warrior upon a nearby bier, waiting next to a dozen of its brothers for its turn to be carried to the waiting flames. The Tok'ra losses had also been vast – and that these beings took the time to see to the needs of the enemy's dead humbled him greatly.

"I'm sorry, Teal'c."

He turned to look at the strained face of his teammate – the teammate he'd feared he'd failed yet again – and wondered anew at the young man's understanding. Blue eyes scanned the fires in the distance, squinting with obvious pain as the early evening breeze sent a billow of acrid smoke in his direction. Teal'c cocked his head, gaze raking his friend, now nearly hidden within the too-big folds of Teal'c's own jacket, and, finally, he allowed himself to see beyond Daniel Jackson's calm façade, his outward control and self-possession, to absorb the deeply bloodshot eyes, the trembling hands, and the haunted aura of despair that encased him like a shroud.

Daniel Jackson had returned to them – wonderingly unharmed. At least, that is what he had assumed. Now, after he'd led the quiet man through the silent Revanna landscape, urging him on hour after hour, he was certain that the young scholar had been badly wounded and would not soon be whole. His mind provided an uncomfortable parallel between his teammate's face and the dead that lay in pallid rows below them.

The two stood for a moment, side by side beneath the alien sun, poised on the last ridge before they would descend into the valley that held the Stargate, O'Neill and Major Carter, the Tok'ra survivors, and the road home. Perhaps it was time for speech, now that the end of their journey was within sight, now that he'd fulfilled his duty to O'Neill to bring Jacob Carter and Daniel Jackson safely to their rendezvous point. And, perhaps, his young teammate would now hear him.

"I, too, am sorry, Daniel Jackson," he began. He heard Jacob Carter move behind him, shuffling upwind, and was grateful for the moment of feigned privacy between them.

His young teammate did not turn, and, for a long moment, Teal'c was sure that he had not heard his words. He stepped closer, frowning, and barely heard him whisper. "I wish – I wish it had been different."

Teal'c nodded solemnly. "I wish many things had been different, my brother. That our duty had not required so much of you, or of Lieutenant Elliot."

Daniel's head had begun to shake, the desperate, despairing movement rejecting the comparison. Teal'c continued, unhurried, patient. "This duty has stolen much from us and from those we call brother – and friend," he insisted. "But," he set the hilt of his staff weapon deep in the sandy ground, "that we stand here, alive, our teammates safe, about to return home," Teal'c deliberately breathed deep of the gathering cloud, the testament to death around them. "This I would not change."

"No." Daniel once again twined his arms across his chest. "I guess not."

Teal'c reached up and splayed one hand against the smaller man's back, riding out the flinch he had expected, hoping that his warmth, his touch, would bring some measure of comfort. "Do not guess that I am – that we are – relieved that you have returned to us. _Know_ this, Daniel Jackson." He blinked at the scholar's closed-off expression, denial and guilt chasing shadows behind his eyes. His brother doubted much – and rightly so, Teal'c reminded himself of the ease with which O'Neill and General Hammond had pressed him into service as assassin and spy, placed him in the hands of the merciless Goa'uld. A few well meant words uttered here, beneath cold skies with reminders of failure all around them could but begin a healing of this breach of trust.

A long sigh sounded beside him. "Even though I …" Daniel threw one arm out in an awkward arc, describing the destruction all around them. "Even though I did this?"

Frowning, Teal'c moved his hand to his teammate's shoulder, urging him to turn, to face him. "Your actions did not cause this," he growled, trying to catch the young scholar's desperate gaze with his own. "Daniel Jackson - this attack was clearly organized long before you and Jacob Carter reached the Goa'uld Summit."

Shoulders hunched, Daniel slowly shook his head. "No, not my actions, Teal'c," he snorted, the sound gouging bloody rents in Teal'c's soul, "if only I had acted. But, no, Jacob will tell you, what I did was _not act_."

Teal'c stood, frozen by his teammate's harsh self-condemnation.

"I'm sorry, sorry, Teal'c," Daniel lifted his hand and patted at the hand that lay on his shoulder, a smile flashing across his face. "This isn't the time or the place." He moved off, levering himself down the steep, sandy hillside with awkward grace, already some distance away before Teal'c could call him back.

A moment later, Jacob Carter was by his side. "Yeah, I know exactly how you feel, Teal'c," the Tok'ra intoned sorrowfully before turning as if to follow the slim figure of the young man.

Teal'c closed one large hand around the Tok'ra's arm, holding him. His eyes narrowed at the clear challenge on the blended human's face. Jacob Carter alone knew the details of the mission, only he could explain the meaning of Daniel Jackson's words, and yet he had remained as silent as the scholar during their long trek. There was a truth hidden here, a truth that may allow him to assist his brother - and Teal'c would do anything, everything, towards that goal.

"Daniel Jackson appeared uninjured when you and he fled the wreckage of the tel'tac," he began. "Indeed, he assisted you, a blended Tok'ra, Jacob Carter."

The Tok'ra cocked his head. "Sure seemed that way, didn't it?"

The larval Goa'uld within his belly surged. "He has no outward wounds, few bruises. And yet, while I served the false gods it was rare that even their most precious lo'taurs did not bear the mark of their slavery on their bodies."

"You don't say," Jacob placed his hands on his hips, chin raised, and stared back with an almost angry intensity.

"It is you who do not speak, Jacob Carter." Teal'c lowered his hand, denying his urge to use his strength to drag answers from the man before him.

"And you're wondering why, exactly that is?"

No. It required no great intellect to see that Jacob Carter had made his own promises concerning shielding their young friend from further harm. Promises that he was anxious, now, to rescind. Teal'c nodded slowly. "It was Daniel Jackson himself who suggested that I seek answers from you," he tried.

"Did he now?" The Tok'ra's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Indeed – he stated that 'Jacob would tell me.'"

The human head bowed and Teal'c watched as the Tok'ra symbiote took control. "I am not sure that this statement would release my host from his promise, Teal'c, no matter how much he – we both - would wish so."

"And what promises hold you silent, Tok'ra?" Frustration made the sound of his words slap loudly in the heavy air.

Eyes glowed gold. "Do you doubt that my host's word is enough to compel me, Jaffa?"

Teal'c felt the sneer twist his lips. "Did the host, Hebron, stop Tanith from reaching within Sha'auc's pouch and killing her?" He stepped closer, towering over the Tok'ra. "What the Tok'ra and human host claim to share is beyond my knowledge, Selmac," the name dripped with scorn, "and so if I doubt your intentions towards Daniel Jackson, know that I merely wish to protect my young brother from further harm at the mighty Tok'ra's hands."

"Okay, hold it!" Jacob stepped back and raised both hands, his voice no longer echoing with the symbiote's. "Let's just everybody calm down here." He shook his head, eyes wide. "Geez, Teal'c, back off, would ya? Selmac's giving me a headache."

Jaw clenching tightly, Teal'c bowed his head, eyes half-lidded to conceal his rage. The Tok'ra were deceptive by nature, it was ingrained in their genetic make-up. And yet – his eyes scanned the funeral pyres below – and yet. He let his gaze trail along after Daniel Jackson, settling on his friend's neat avoidance of the hand the Tok'ra male who greeted him reached out as if to guide him.

"Listen."

Teal'c turned reluctantly back to the difficult confrontation with Major Carter's father and the Tok'ra Selmac. He frowned – the human was fingering a thin, slick paper dotted with small yellow pills – and with empty areas where many pills had been removed. He glanced up into wary eyes, his question asked with one raised eyebrow.

"It's no secret that Daniel's hurting," the Tok'ra began. "And I'll tell you that he's pretty close to crashing – and when he does, it's gonna be bad." He handed the strip of pills to Teal'c who unconsciously gathered them into his hand. "All I'm gonna say is this," a finger stabbed into Teal'c's chest, "get Janet to check him out, and I mean, get her to look deep."

"It is standard practice –"

Jacob cut him off with a gesture. "Yeah, I know all about it. I'm saying, look deeper. And, once she analyzes these, she'll get it."

Teal'c folded the pills into a pocket of his vest. "Will you not be able to tell her yourself, Jacob Carter? Are you not accompanying SG-1 through the Stargate?"

A wry smile twisted across the Tok'ra's face as he turned to survey the scurrying figures below. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to be an option, Teal'c. I'm sure the Tok'ra will want to leave the planet before they let you guys go home."

Distrust and rage curled through Teal'c's veins, and he looked again at the hastily erected funeral pyres on which Jaffa bodies blackened and burned. "They will take the ships and leave no sign behind of what became of this army," he growled. It was not honor or compassion that fueled the Tok'ra's actions, neither grief at the loss of life nor an affirmation of Jaffa tradition and belief. His fists clenched, knuckles popping.

"Do not hate us, Teal'c," Selmac's resonant voice pulled his gaze to his side. "We have lost much here, possibly any hope of our own freedom from the Goa'uld." The ragged sigh sounded strange in the doubled voice. "Daniel Jackson is a perceptive man – he is, perhaps, the only one of all of us who can see the losses here and weigh them equally." He turned and regarded Teal'c evenly. "And the only one of us who truly and completely blames himself for them all."

Teal'c watched him move off through eyes veiled by the ashes of Jaffa and the memories of battles small and large, won and lost; warriors felled by the weapons of the gods or the treachery of so-called friends. Daniel Jackson grew smaller in his sight, moving towards a group of figures standing beside a Goa'uld vessel, his head hanging low upon his chest to shield his gaze from the carnage let loose upon this world, as if denying it access to his already ravaged conscience. Teal'c followed, striding forward, boots sinking deep into the soft sand and grit. Tok'ra, Goa'uld, Jaffa, or Tau'ri, no matter the words spoken or the decisions made in the wake of this mission, he would not lose sight of his goal. He could not allow a man as strong and resilient as his young brother to be so beaten by the vulnerability of his own passionate soul.

**A/N: Just another couple of chapters to go – thank you all for your wonderful feedback, it means the world to me.**


	16. Chapter 16

Letting Go Chapter 16

Warning: Swearing ahead.

**A Day Late and … - Revanna – Continuing Tag**

The waiting was going to kill him. Jack clenched and unclenched his fists, his feet digging furrows in the sand as he crossed and re-crossed his path in his relentless pacing, the studied casual demeanor slipping further away from him every minute the damned Tok'ra kept him and Carter penned in their open-air cage. The blank-faced snakes had done a pretty neat job of herding them away from the Goa'uld ships and the Stargate and every other possible point of interest as they ushered them into what was left of the Jaffa command tent. And left them there. He looked up at the four bulky aliens ostensibly 'guarding' the poor defenseless humans, and swiftly assessed their carefully holstered zats, balanced stances, and their calculating eyes. Nope. He and Carter weren't going anywhere unless they decided to start shooting.

Walking the length of the tent, he stopped at Carter's crouching form, both of her hands buried to the wrist in the MALP's charred innards, needle-nosed pliers caught between her teeth. Well, at least one of them had something to do.

He grabbed his cap off his head and wiped one hand wearily across his face. "Report, Carter," he ordered … again.

Irritated blue eyes peered up at him momentarily before she sat back on her haunches, tools and hands dropping into her lap. "I can jury-rig a connection, sir, but it's not likely to hold together for more than a few minutes, just long enough for a short face-to-face with the SGC."

"Well, that'll have to be good enough," Jack sighed. He dragged his gaze from the darkening horizon and the billowing black smoke to notice her suddenly tense shoulders. "Relax, Carter," he drawled, attempting to draw the snarling impatience from his voice, "I know you're doing your best."

"Yes, sir."

Crap. Jack was tired. Carter was tired. Daniel was … He turned abruptly and threw himself into what he guessed was the Jaffa equivalent of a camp chair, the burning ball of sourness in his belly ripping at the restraints the veteran soldier had piled around it. Hell, no, he told himself. Plenty of time for that. The only thing they were all looking forward to was a prolonged infirmary visit and the debriefing from hell. And another round of memorial services. And that was if and when the Tok'ra decided it was safe for them to dial the damn Stargate.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut until the haunting images of Elliot's slack face and Daniel's empty gaze erupted in showers of red sparks. He slid down until his head rested on the back of the chair, stretching out his aching legs and groaning as his muscles resisted, his body clamoring for a soft mattress, cool sheets, and the familiar voice of a major general welcoming his team back to their happy, underground home.

Home. That's what he needed – what they needed. A week under the stars of Earth, in their own homes, reminding themselves of the feel of civilian clothes, and worrying about nothing more galaxy-shattering than assessing the shortest line at the grocery check-out. Maybe a team night – pizza, beer, chess, bad movies and artery-clogging buttered popcorn. Meaningless conversation, familiar platitudes, and absolutely no soul-baring, angst-filled stammerings about regret or mistakes or … anything. No blue eyes avoiding his; no tight-lipped general's advice or Jaffa pearls of wisdom. They just needed to get beyond this, get over it, tuck this mission back behind those walls they'd all created around the bad ones that had come before. It wasn't like they didn't have practice.

"Colonel."

Jack was upright and at Carter's side before his back and knees could protest, hands ready at his weapon. His gaze went right past the tall, thin Tok'ra leading their teammates towards the tent and focused unerringly on Daniel's haggard face. A swift shard of worry tore at the thin thread that was left of his resolve. He shoved it away.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." He managed to control a wince at the sharpness of his tone. "You guys lose Jacob in the woods?" He didn't miss the way Teal'c's eyes followed Daniel's shambling progress towards a chair at some distance away from them. And how his own gaze did the same.

"Jacob Carter is meeting with the Tok'ra, Jalen."

"Good, maybe he can convince somebody to let us dial up Earth and tell Hammond not to write us all off as dead just yet." He took an automatic step towards the archaeologist when the guy nearly tripped before he could lower himself gingerly into a seat.

"I believe the Tok'ra's priorities are somewhat different from ours, O'Neill."

"Yeah, I got that, T," Jack sniped. "But, good news, Carter's managed to rewire the fried MALP here so we can do more than stand around scratching our butts and punching in our, no doubt, locked out GDO codes once the 'gate is open."

Teal'c bowed his head in Carter's direction. "That is good news, O'Neill."

"Uh huh." Jack watched Daniel. Watched him lean forward, elbows on his knees, hands scraping through his short hair to hold his head. Watched as his breath puffed shallowly in the heavy air, too fast, in and out. The thin Tok'ra had followed him and stood there, hovering. Teal'c quickly joined him. Carter stood rigidly at Jack's side, looking like she'd like to go hover, too.

"I will bring your teammates what little food and drink we have gathered from the Jaffa ships." The Tok'ra crouched suddenly at Daniel's side, one hand on the young man's knee. "Perhaps a healer…"

Daniel's head snapped up so fast Jack's neck ached in sympathy. "No. I'm fine. Just tired." Fierce blue eyes blazed a warning that Jack read easily as Daniel's 'back off, leave me alone,' look.

"What you could do," Jack moved slowly towards the Tok'ra, doing his best imitation of a looming colonel intent on violence until the guy got the message, stood up, and backed away a step, "is get somebody over here that can tell me why, exactly, all you lovely Tok'ra have decided to keep us here."

"I will inform the councilors." With one last look at SG-1's archaeologist, the man strode off.

"Great idea! Wish I'd thought of it!" Jack shouted after the scurrying figure. He took a deep breath and turned towards his teammates; towards the slumped, hurting man in the chair, towards the Jaffa simmering with barely controlled anger, and the rock-solid major caught between concern and duty. With no more thought, no careful deliberation or finely honed strategy, all of Jack's cold intentions dissolved into the gritty tension that pulsed around them.

"T, you wanna help Carter with the MALP? I want to be ready to dial out as soon as the Tok'ra get their heads out of their asses." He took the last few steps that separated him from Daniel and met the Jaffa's fierce appraisal unflinchingly. Yeah, I got this, T, he offered silently, one hand dropping to lay across the pale, cool skin of Daniel's bent neck.

Teal'c's raised eyebrow communicated a wary acceptance - as well as a clear warning - before the large man moved reluctantly away.

Jack sighed and stood a moment, gaze riveted on some distant point, the trembling muscles beneath his hand revealing so much that the silent, stubborn man would never say aloud. Words about distrust and doubt, fear and failure, resignation and defeat. About the things he'd seen on that space station - things that would never make it into a report - the bitterness that had traveled right along with him, and the blame he accepted so damned willingly. Jack stood, shaken and steady – and listened.

A shudder – a sigh – and Daniel's head dropped another few inches, releasing the invisible connection between them long enough for Jack to pull a chair close and try to remember any reason he'd thought Daniel's solo mission was a good idea. He sank down, mimicking his teammate's huddled pose, and stared at the bowed head in front of him, his desperate thoughts as he'd hauled Elliott's body through the Jaffa-strewn forest echoing so loud within his skull that he wondered if Daniel could hear them.

'_If he was lucky, very, very lucky, if the gods of karma and the guardian angels of stubborn archaeologists allowed his missing teammate to survive with whatever wounds, whatever gashes or hurts that cut deep into that Daniel Jackson spirit, then at least Jack would have a chance. A chance to peel back those layers one by one until he could recognize the innocent scholar he'd first seen through a haze of cigarette smoke in a cold conference room beneath the mountain. And, even if that guy never looked back at Jack with the fierce connection he'd taken for granted, or friendship, or even respect, it would be enough. Daniel – alive. Yeah, it would be enough.'_

He didn't feel particularly lucky right now. Right now, he'd settle for Daniel looking at him at all. He reached out and tugged at his teammate's sleeve, trying to pry one hand away from his face, to see his eyes and gauge the depth of his hurt. To see if that naïve scholar still lived there somewhere, beneath the trappings of a soldier and a slave. To maybe get a chance to incite a pissy comment or a surge of stubborn anger – anything other than this deadly silence. To find out if this friendship thing still had even a breath of life left in it.

"Hey," he whispered, tugging harder, "Daniel. Come on, give me something, here."

The heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes, Daniel sighed. "What do you want, Jack?"

The utter exhaustion in those few words stole any other demands Jack might have voiced. He closed his eyes and swallowed around the lump in his throat, leaning closer. "I want to help, Daniel," he said, "just – just let me help."

A few panted breaths almost sounded like laughter and Jack's fingers tightened around his teammate's wrist. "Daniel." Fear made his voice sound harsh, dangerous.

"You were right, Jack. You and the general." The shaking hands dropped to Daniel's knees and his head rose, eyes so red and swollen that Jack sat back in surprise as the jagged weight of their glare stabbed at him. "I should have known that you'd be right – again. That trying to be a – a," he shook his head and one hand flapped ineffectually at the air, "soldier, assassin, whatever, was pointless. Incapable. Exactly."

"What? Daniel –" A hasty conversation behind closed doors, Jack's mixed feelings about the Tok'ra's so-called plans, and his soft-hearted teammate's complete unsuitability to pull this kind of trigger leaped to his memory. Angry, pointed words, Hammond's narrowed eyes, his own stupid, stubborn refusal to get it – Jack grabbed his teammate's shoulders.

"No – that's not – did you hear that, Daniel?" Jack shouted – demanded - wondering if there was any possible way this situation could be more completely fucked up. He wanted to shake him – to hug him – he wanted to hit him – God, how could one man dredge up so many emotions?

Daniel sat unmoving; apparently willing to take anything Jack threw at him. "Do you remember what I said to you, Jack, before I ran off with Jacob?"

Jack shook his head, confusion mounting, fingers digging in hard as if to keep Daniel still.

"About how being a hero is _your_ thing?"

"Daniel – shut up a minute," Jack tried to catch his mental breath, tried to reach back to life before this fiasco, past the death and destruction, the drag of Mansfield's body in his arms, the crushed skulls of the Tok'ra, the lingering bile whenever he remembered Teal'c's vivid descriptions of the Goa'uld's lo'taurs – back to the last real conversation he had with the guy he used to think of as his best friend.

But Daniel smiled a sickly smile and kept right on talking. "I guess I was right after all. I couldn't do it. Couldn't save Sarah – couldn't save –"

Jack surged to his feet, hauling Daniel's unresisting body with him. "God damn it, Daniel, what the hell are you –"

"O'Neill!"

Broad shoulders broke his grip, shunting him aside and away from the broken man wearing Daniel's face. Jack fought, cursing, his vision blurred by angry tears. "No – dammit, Teal'c – let me talk to him!"

He felt the heat from the Jaffa's furious breath on his face. "Do you not think you have already said too much, O'Neill? Has Daniel Jackson not borne enough ridicule at your hands?"

"Teal'c! Colonel O'Neill! Stop it!"

Carter's voice barely registered as Jack instinctively wrapped one leg around the bigger man's ankle and twisted, sending them both to the dirt as the hands clutching his jacket yanked him off balance.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Yeah, Jacob could just get in line, Jack snapped behind his tightly clenched teeth, his eyes riveted to scowling face beneath him as he struggled to bring one knee up to drive it into the vulnerable symbiote pouch, all his frustration, fear, and helplessness fueling his blind rage.

"Jack …"

Daniel. Jack's muscles froze.

"… don't …"

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. What the hell was he doing? Jack threw himself to the side, grunting as hip and shoulder hit the ground. He lay there, breathing hard, all energy spent, until Jacob Carter's flushed face appeared upside down above him.

"If you're all done rolling around on the ground, Jack, we have a few things to discuss."

Jack offered the former general a one-fingered salute.

"Colonel – I think Daniel needs help."

He sat up, head swimming, and instantly grabbed the large hand offered by his looming Jaffa teammate. Carter was kneeling, Daniel in a crumpled heap beside her, his head lolling back and forth, tremors shaking his body. Jack surged forward, all business, and dropped, one knee on either side of his teammate's head, hands trying to support his neck, to still his spastic movements.

"You need to get him home to Janet, Colonel," Jacob's calm voice came over his shoulder.

"Dad? What's wrong with him? He seemed fine…" Carter's fingers probed at Daniel's neck, searching for a carotid pulse.

"He'll be all right, Sam, I promise, but I don't think Danny's been 'fine' for a while now."

Yeah, no kidding. The blue eyes were half closed, lips moving, hands limply plucking at the ground.

"Carter?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, sir. His pulse is fast, his breathing shallow – his muscles are loose, but it's like he's running a marathon."

"He is," Jacob commented sharply, crouching next to his daughter. "Or, he has been. Now he needs to rest, and I don't think he's gonna be able to do that," he gazed steadily into Jack's eyes, "until someone convinces him it's okay to let go."

A swirl of movement and a rush of sound drew Jack's eyes to the sky. The tel'tacs were rising, one after the other.

"Straight answers, Jacob. Now," Jack snapped.

Jacob smiled. "The Tok'ra are leaving, Jack. We found the bodies of Zipacna and his First Prime among the dead and we're getting out of here before the Goa'uld can send in any more troops. Hopefully, anyone else coming here is just going to find some burned corpses and a lot of nothing else." He leaned in and put one hand on Daniel's shoulder, his gaze trying to track with the archaeologist's eyes. "Tell him something for me, will you?" The Tok'ra's smile was warm, but tinged with sorrow. "Tell him that some losses are never acceptable."

Jack rose with the older man, questions crowding his throat, but movement at his side drew his focus. Two Tok'ra were carrying a stretcher towards them, a slight, dark-skinned woman walking at its side, gently tucking one green-clad arm back beneath the thin sheet that covered the body. As the stretcher was lowered to the ground, she came closer and placed her right hand over her heart.

"Colonel O'Neill, I am Jalen of the Tok'ra Council. We have retrieved the body of your fallen comrade." She bowed. "On behalf of all of the Tok'ra, I offer my condolences for your losses and my gratitude for his sacrifice." She paused. "We regret our haste, but," she turned to Jacob, "the ship is ready."

"That's my cue." Jacob pulled Sam up for a swift hug before he turned towards Teal'c. "Don't forget what I told you."

"I will not," the Jaffa answered.

"Jacob-"

One raised hand cut off Jack's demand for explanations. "Take care of him, Jack."

He watched, fuming, as the Tok'ra moved off towards the waiting ship. A moaned curse from near his feet sent him back to his knees. "Daniel?"

"J'ck?"

Slurred, nearly unrecognizable, but it was his name. Jack raised one hand to his teammate's cheek. "Take it easy, Daniel, we're going home."


	17. Chapter 17

Letting Go Chapter 17

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting – a virus has me in its grip.

**Home Is … – SGC – Continuing Tag**

"Unscheduled off-world activation!"

The flashing red lights and pounding klaxons seemed suddenly more urgent, as if taking their cue from the anxiety that choked the underground tunnels and turned the 'gate technician's voice into a strident shout. Hammond forced himself to make precise, careful movements, to keep his pace even and unpanicked as he strode towards the control room. He heard the clattering of weapons, the thud of booted feet, and the electronic locks of the steel blast doors engaging, noises loud in the breath-holding anticipation of his command. In the shadows beneath the metal staircase the general paused, settling his shoulders, forcing a studied focus to his features before he stepped out to fall beneath the withering, demanding gazes of the others.

Chin raised, he marched forward. Lou Ferretti – all restrained fury and teeth-clenching frustration – stood at Harriman's left shoulder, staring at the disposition of Reynolds, SG-3, and the base SFs through the observation window. Neither man had relaxed his vigilance since the briefing twelve hours ago – and Hammond couldn't blame them. Nerves strained, chest tight, he'd taken to walking the base between updates, reports, and calls from the Pentagon, more often than not finding himself standing before the briefing room window, staring at the alien ring that separated him from his missing teams. Six airmen. One rebel alien. And one civilian.

A brush of air, the tap of a heel, a calming presence and the general knew Janet Frasier stood on his right. Her concern, he knew, was just as deep as his own; her anger just as raw, her fear just as secret – locked away behind her white coat and professional façade as much as his was behind his stars. She'd taken to appearing in his office at odd hours with cups of soup and egg white sandwiches, wielding a blood pressure cuff and reminding him to take his medicine, and offering an ear, a shoulder, a fellow to share in his distress. The lady had some broad shoulders.

"Report, Sergeant."

His even tone did its work, steadying down his officers, giving them a foundation where they could rest their burdens.

He watched Harriman's throat work. "It's SG-1's IDC, sir," the man stated, eyes forward, ready.

Hammond nodded. He should have expected it. "Keep that iris closed, airman, and send the 'Do Not Proceed' code."

"Yes, sir." His fingers worked busily at his controls.

Leaning forward, the general took in the men below him, the .50 cal guns at the ready on each side of the ramp, Marines and Air Force SFs in precise formations. "Heads up," he snapped into the microphone, "watch your targets." Targets that might wear some damned familiar faces.

"Sir – General –" The wariness in Harriman's voice drew his gaze and Hammond looked up at the monitor above him. Static flipped and churned and dissolved into the grainy face of Jack O'Neill backed by Teal'c, one hand clenched around his staff weapon, with the Stargate visible in the distance.

"SG-1 niner to base, are you reading us? I repeat, O'Neill to base, we're, ah, we're getting a busy signal on the ole iris, General, and we've had a great time with the Tok'ra, played a little tag with some Jaffa, too, but we'd really like to get home before curfew if you know what I mean…"

A shout of glee erupted in the control room, Ferretti yelling at the top of his lungs as the picture and sound faded in and out.

Hammond stilled the mayhem with one barked command. Nothing had changed – nothing at all. The Goa'uld invasion force could not have just disappeared from the planet in a puff of smoke. He waited until the men had steadied, expressions hovering between joyful hope and practiced discipline.

"Colonel O'Neill, your GDO codes have been locked out. If you proceed into the wormhole you and whoever is with you will come up against a closed iris. Do you copy?"

A knowing half-smile flashed on the colonel's wan face. "Yeah, copy that, General." He reached up a gloved hand and pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose, "we sorta figured." He gestured to his side. "But Carter says the cut and paste job she's done on the MALP won't last long," the picture morphed the grey-haired veteran into wavy lines and dizzying patterns of black and white for a moment, "and Daniel sure is looking forward to some nice sharp needles in his future."

Hammond felt the grasp of small, cold fingers against his arm.

"Daniel?" Janet turned towards him, the name echoing from other lips around the control room.

"Doctor Jackson is with you, Colonel?" Something seemed to be trying to escape from Hammond's chest, knocking in an uneven pattern against his ribs. How could that … how could he … He placed one hand over the microphone. "Sergeant, can you pan the MALP camera?"

The colonel answered first. "Yes, sir." The worry on Jack's face came through loud and clear. "He's lookin' kinda green around the gills, but one archaeologist, present and accounted for."

Harriman scowled, hands plying the controls and then shook his head. "No response, sir," he muttered.

Biting back a growl, Hammond moved his hand. "And SG-17?"

O'Neill's eyes were shadowed, his tone clipped. "All dead, sir. Killed in the Goa'uld attack."

Mind working furiously, Hammond struggled to remain controlled. Procedures. Standard Ops. "Are you in any immediate danger, Colonel?"

"Ah, well, that's hard to say, General. Nobody's left planet-side, but that doesn't mean the Goa'uld won't be sending in reinforcements." The transmission zipped and crackled, a connection on the MALP end sending up sparks and a coil of smoke. "Don't wanna rush you sir, but…" The colonel waved one hand through air.

The situation curdling in his gut, Hammond knew what he had to do, what he'd been ordered to do in this contingency. "You are ordered to sit tight, Colonel. Do not dial in and do not leave this location. In one hour we will contact you with a rendezvous point for your team."

He watched O'Neill sigh, lips tightening. "Yes, sir. And if the MALP shorts out?"

"That close to the 'gate, the radio signal should be strong enough, sir," Harriman offered.

"You heard the sergeant, Colonel."

"Yep. SG-1 will sit tight for your orders, sir." The figure looked down and flipped the cover from his watch. "What's one more hour?" he muttered.

"Shut it down, Sergeant."

The whoosh of the collapsing wormhole was deafening.

"General-"

Before Ferretti could get up any momentum, Hammond faced him. "Colonel, take your team and SGs-3 and 4 through to P8X-656 immediately. Dig in; take defensive positions surrounding the 'gate." He raised one hand. "I hope I do not have to remind you that O'Neill and SG-1 could easily be under duress right now, and our inability to have a clear picture of the ground situation on Revanna is a little too coincidental for my liking."

Steel snapped back into Ferretti's spine and he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Take every precaution, Colonel." Hammond narrowed his eyes in warning. "Doctor Jackson is still to be considered a threat and I am trusting you to overlook your personal feelings and do your duty to safeguard everyone on this base and this planet."

"Understood, sir."

The precise footsteps followed the general up the stairs and into his office. He stood, his back to the door, one hand on the red phone that would relay the newest intel to his superiors in Washington, trying to deny the furtive relief that was a cooling balm to his seared nerves. His words just a moment ago to Colonel Ferretti a reminder of his own duty. He sighed. "Nothing has changed, Doctor."

"I think it has, General," Frasier insisted to his back.

He turned to snap a response, but her wondering gaze stopped him. "They're alive. Daniel's alive. No matter what else has happened, we have that."

Hammond shook his head. "We don't know-"

"Exactly, sir," she reminded him, smiling an apology at her interruption.

He let go a frustrated breath. "Well, let's see what we can do about that."

… **Where the Heart Is – SGC – Continuing Tag**

Jack O'Neill let the soothing sounds of the base flow around him, his eyes closed, chin resting on his fist atop the briefing room table. Carter's pen was making swishing sounds against paper somewhere to his left, pages crinkling between her fingers, an impatient breath blown out into the air now and then as she got a head start on her official report. Across and to the right one of the SFs at his guard post shifted his weight, new boots squeaking. The bitter smell of day-old coffee filled his nostrils, the hotplate pinging as it kept on cooking that last half-inch of tar in a nearly empty carafe. From the weight of the air he knew that Teal'c still stood before the observation window, the lines of his scowl, by now, permanently etched into his face.

He was beyond tiredness – beyond exhaustion. To all eyes, Jack was sure he looked like the picture of the relaxed veteran, biding his time, catching a chance to go to ground while he could. After the latest round of tests, he, Carter, and Teal'c had been fed and escorted to the locker room to shower and shave, to peel off days' old grime and put on clean fatigues. The familiarity should have soothed him, should have flushed out all that excess adrenaline and sent him crashing. But the churning of his mind, the snarling tension and anger that had engulfed him while the SGC and the government types led his team through hoops and official damned _procedures_ until they were allowed to – finally - set foot on the ramp on level 28 had trapped him in this cocoon of sensation – every nerve on fire with the need to … to do something. To fix this.

But when the general ordered his loyal 2IC, his front line planet-saving team to wait, well, by God, you waited.

Waited for the MALP to send a clear picture of the empty Revanna plain to the SGC. Waited for Ferretti's team to vet them on a safe, lifeless, boring planet. Waited for permission to dial the Alpha Site. Waited for medical clearance. Waited for Frasier to okay the relocation of Daniel's just about conscious body to the SGC. And now Jack was waiting, again, in the subdued air of an SGC that had assumed him dead, and his teammate turned into a snake-headed traitor.

Maybe he could get a new ribbon his dress blues – the Waiting Medal. He popped his jaw, his head bouncing up and down against his fist. It seemed as if he'd been waiting for Daniel for years.

Ever since that first mission to Abydos, before Carter left her ivory tower in DC and while Teal'c still did Apophis' bidding, Jack had been waiting. He waited a whole year, retired, star-gazing on his roof when his skin itched with the heat from an alien sun. He'd waited – not so patiently - in Antarctica for Daniel to find the clue that would lead to rescue. He'd waited in a mine while Daniel fell under the spell of a sarcophagus and a pretty face, and in a temple so he could learn to move things with his mind. And he'd spent what probably added up to weeks waiting beside an infirmary bed, waiting for his friend to wake up from various and sundry injuries, to open his eyes, to be okay.

Back on Revanna, Jacob had told him – got right up in his face before he dragged Daniel off to the Goa'uld party. He'd told Jack that all he had to do was wait. The two of them would go out, crash the summit, release some nifty poison gas, and be back before bedtime. And, as usual, Jack had sucked at it – and that was before the fancy crystal-cut tunnels had dropped on all the Tok'ra's heads. Before Mansfield's team died. Before Lantash snaked his way into Elliot's body. And before his teammate – his annoying, hard-headed, seemingly uninjured teammate – had come back and broken into pieces in front of him.

The former spec ops colonel got it right away. Sniffed out the suspicion, saw the half-glances shot at Daniel's costume, and heard the pointed edge to the questions aimed in his archaeologist's direction. Ferretti had met them at the 'gate on the uninhabited planet with a cocky grin, a joke, and eyes that radiated distrust. The teams at the Alpha Site had been worse. Luckily, Daniel had been too out of it to notice.

Daniel had managed to stumble through two Stargate checkpoints before he gave in, let Teal'c steady him – practically carry him – to the infirmary at the Alpha Site. But he was still fighting Janet from flat on his back, strapped to a gurney, nervous young SFs crowding the Doc's heels as they wheeled him up to the wormhole. Jack read the mixture of fear and relief in the short, sharp commands to the doctor spat to team, in the frequent touches to Daniel's wrist, and the brittle smiles plastered on to reassure him. Jack had seen her mind working when a solemn Jaffa placed a sheaf of pills into her hand and whispered Jacob Carter's words of caution.

Yeah, Jack had noticed enough for the both of them.

Now Elliot was in the morgue and Daniel was in the infirmary, unresponsive, barely breathing, and still heavily guarded. The guy who opened the Stargate. The naïve geek who saved Jack's life too many times to count. And Hammond was white-lipped with tension, barking orders when Jack had finally snapped and started reminding everyone – loudly – that it was their own damn fault that Daniel had been out there with the System Lords in the first place, and that it was a little late now for second guessing. He felt a grin twitch at his lips. It had sure felt good.

The muted click as Hammond lowered the red phone onto its base snapped Jack's head up, and before the general could make his entrance, Jack was on his feet, Carter stumbling upright a moment later. His impatience with the situation straightened Jack's spine, pulled his shoulders back tight, as he marshaled his arguments for Round Two of this sparring match.

"Have a seat, people," Hammond announced with a weary sigh. He settled heavily into the chair on Jack's right, and rapped his fingers on the table.

"General Hammond." Teal'c didn't sit. Jack watched as his clutching fingers squeezed divots into the back of a leather chair. "I do not understand."

Yeah, that made two of them. Jack caught the Jaffa's wounded expression and jerked his chin towards the chair, widening his eyes when the big man ignored him. The snarl that registered on the Jaffa's face was silent, at least, but Jack felt the warrior's condemnation across the table. "There seems to be no relief that Daniel Jackson has returned safely," dark eyes burned into Jack's soul, "and suspicion that he did not sustain more or deeper injuries."

Huh. Jack's lips tightened. "Yeah. What he said, sir." He stared into the Jaffa's burning gaze, hoping Teal'c would see his own admission there. He'd done the same damn thing back when Jacob and Daniel had stumbled from the cargo ship on Revanna. Looked him over and forgotten all about his own resolution to fix things with his friend when – if – he ever saw him again.

"I agree, General," Carter piped up. "Why is Daniel under guard? Didn't Janet's MRIs show he's not a Goa'uld?"

Hammond's face was pale but stern beneath their scrutiny as he looked from Carter, to Teal'c, and then to Jack. "Colonel, what happened to Doctor Jackson at the Goa'uld summit?"

"We don't know that," Jack spat, all of his good intentions about holding back and staying disciplined dissolving, "the only guy who knows that is in the infirmary, unconscious."

"And that's the problem, Jack," Hammond leaned forward, hand out on the table as if begging for indulgence. "Doctor Jackson was among the System Lords – alone – for days, and yet, you're telling me that he returned, still holding the Tok'ra poison, with no explanation from him or Jacob Carter?" The general raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Can anyone explain that?"

Jack opened his mouth, but Teal'c beat him to it. Again.

"You would have preferred that Daniel Jackson die on this mission, General Hammond?"

One hand smacked hard against the table. "Dammit, Teal'c, that is not what I'm saying," Hammond snapped.

Teal'c's head angled in his familiar 'you're pissing me off but I'm resisting dismembering you' bow. "Then what is your objection to his return?"

"Doctor Jackson has been in enemy hands …"

"More like right under their noses," Jack muttered, earning a sharp glare.

"And the Tok'ra base was attacked while he was out of touch. Until we know what happened, Teal'c, we have to assume that Doctor Jackson has been compromised."

"That's crap. Sir," Jack said mildly, leaning back against his chair. "Unless this is how we were planning to treat him if he did it – if he pulled it off and managed to take them all out, send the snake-heads to hell, then it looks more like all the fallout from this completely screwed up mission has now been aimed at Daniel's head." No hearts and flowers for our boy, no good job, well done, thanks for pulling the trigger – instead, Daniel's reward for putting himself out there was going to be a load of manure.

He could smell it from here, see it in the general's shadowed eyes. Somebody far upstream from them was trying to shovel the crap onto Daniel for this fiasco. Jack may have been less than supportive, his gaze flicked towards Teal'c's dark eyes, okay, _a lot_ less than supportive at the beginning, but he was prepared to be as annoying and insubordinate and persistent as any self-righteous archaeologist to do right by him now.

"Let's bottom line this," he said, arms gesturing wide. "What's it gonna take to convince everybody that Daniel's back, just Daniel, no snakes, no brainwashing, no sarc addiction making him tear up the place?" He pressed one pointed finger into the table top. "Bottom line, sir."

"I need a full report, Colonel," Hammond responded, almost gently. "And since Jacob Carter didn't return with you to give me one, that means I'll have to wait until Doctor Jackson regains consciousness and can answer some questions."

"Perhaps I can help with that, sir."

Janet hurried into the briefing room, her arms full of files, her expression stony. The general gestured her towards a seat.

"Daniel's awake?" Carter asked.

"No." The doctor's mouth snapped closed as she opened a file in front of her. "And I don't think he will be awake for quite some time."

Jack waited at least a second. Maybe two. "You're gonna make us beg, Doc?"

Frasier sighed and glanced at the general for permission. "Among other things, Daniel is suffering from acute adrenal exhaustion, bordering on adrenal failure." Her gaze flicked towards Teal'c. "I've analyzed the pills that Jacob gave to Teal'c and found that they contained a very high dose of a foreign stimulant. This combination of chemicals stimulates cortisol production in the adrenal glands, basically keeping a person's flight or fight response permanently triggered until the chemicals leave the person's bloodstream, causing an adrenal crash."

"You're saying that the Tok'ra kept Daniel doped up during this whole mission?" Jack's hands ached, the skin of his knuckles standing out whitely as he clenched his fists, his rage spilling over.

"Apparently. I think what we're seeing with Daniel is the result of continual use of the stimulants over a number of days. The muscle weakness you witnessed, the confusion, dizziness, and mood swings are all symptoms. The low blood pressure, dehydration, and loss of consciousness complete the picture. We're treating him with broad-spectrum antibiotics since his immune system is compromised, various vitamins and DHEA which will, hopefully, even him out until his body can find its own natural balance again."

"So, dad was right – he's going to be okay?"

Janet's demeanor told Jack that she wasn't finished – she wasn't nearly finished, but the doctor looked at the intent, worried faces around her and threw them a bone. "I believe he will be. It doesn't look like any permanent damage was done by the use of the stimulants."

Nice caveat, Jack thought. No permanent damage done 'by the stimulants.'

"Dad wouldn't knowingly do anything to hurt Daniel, sir." Carter seemed like she was trying to convince herself. "He must have thought the stimulants would help him."

"Lo'taurs are expected to stay awake and alert at all hours when serving their Masters," Teal'c intoned.

Jack didn't care. This was just another example of all the crap they did not know before they sent Daniel off to kill the Goa'uld. He caught Janet's eye. "What else, Doc?"

"Teal'c gave me a message from Jacob – he specifically told me to look 'deeper' at Daniel's possible injuries. Well," she shuffled through papers and reports, "I did that." She looked up to meet the general's eyes. "And based on what I found, I think I can tell you a little about what happened to Daniel on that Space Station, sir."

Silence fell around them all; not a cushioning silence that let Jack feel all warm and introspective, but a brittle, deafening silence that made his skin crawl. They waited.

"Based on – well, based on a lot of tests and scans that you don't need to know about, I'd say that Daniel had been beaten. A few times. And then subjected to the Goa'uld healing device before he was beaten again." This time she kept her eyes glued to her papers. "Blood loss isn't reversed through Goa'uld healing, so we're giving him transfusions, some of the soft tissue that was damaged is still bruised, so analgesics have been administered, and the areas around each of the bone breaks shows some lingering blood circulation problems –"

"_Each_ of the bone breaks?" he heard the general murmur.

"Yes, sir. Four broken ribs, a fractured clavicle, and," Frasier's fingers rose to her face, "one orbit was fractured in two places. Oh, and his hyoid bone was damaged which tells me that he was strangled at least once."

Jack dropped his head into his hands.

"Oh my God," Carter breathed.

Frasier's words washed over them, but Jack kept his eyes closed. Imaging fists hitting pale flesh. The sound of bones snapping. A crushing pain in his throat.

"All of these, hopefully, will continue to knit naturally as long as he rests and doesn't take any more long hikes through the wilderness. We're also treating both eyes for corneal abrasions from prolonged contact lens wear – eye drops and rest should take care of those as well."

Of course. His eyes had been red. Why didn't he take them out? Jack moved his head from side to side, regret and guilt drowning out any residual anger.

"So what does that tell us?"

This time, he heard it – he heard the misery underneath Hammond's attempts at cool, logical, military thinking. It was funny how that litany of Daniel's injuries had somehow cleared the air, had reminded them of the risks they'd been so willing to take with one civilian's life not so long ago. It was if Daniel's blood itself could atone for the sins of this mission and wash them all clean.

It reminded them of their humanity.

Beyond the higher-ups' need to blame someone, beyond misunderstandings and stupid, wrong-headed assumptions. Beyond fault and ignorant military pride. Daniel had stood up to monsters, with no one to watch his back.

'"Tell him that some losses are never acceptable."' Jack raised his head and stared out the observation window at the top of the Stargate – Daniel's Stargate. He stood. "General, with your permission, I'd like to go sit with my teammate." Hammond murmured something about reports and Jack thought he nodded, but all of his focus was on the man laying in the infirmary bed a few floors up.

Shame at his words and actions, grief at the loss of life – that was all still there below the surface. But what Jack felt most was gratitude - admiration. He'd have to say that to Daniel sometime.

**A/N: Just an epilogue to go now. **


	18. Epilogue

Letting Go: Epilogue

"You sure you're up to this?"

Jack was hovering – and doing a pretty good impression of the worried, mother-hen act he used to put on before … before so many things has happened between them. Daniel kept his eyes fixed on his hands as he buttoned up his fatigue shirt, remembering the irritation - and warmth – that Jack's over-protectiveness had once inspired. Back then, he never imagined that he'd miss it one day.

Daniel knew he'd been confused for most of the trip back to Revanna – and the SGC. That he probably hadn't been thinking straight on the space station. Janet had explained it all. But, for some reason, Daniel wondered if maybe the Tok'ra drugs had removed some of the … resistance; the stubborn, blinkered denial he'd been living in for years. That he might have been figuring things out for the first time. The numbing haze that still wrapped every thought and movement was like insulation wrapped around raw, sensitive nerves; it held him safely distanced from the whirl of loss and suspicion and concern and let him think.

Finally, Daniel thought he had a grip on that 'military detachment' that he and Sam had discussed so many times during those first missions. Looking back on his decisions, his assumptions, and his actions during this mission; answering questions, facing the accusatory stares and harsh judgments that he knew were coming in the formal debrief – he shook his head, grateful that he'd found a remote, unemotional place to speak from.

"Hey – you okay?"

Daniel looked up, blinking at the frown on Jack's face. "Oh, sorry. No, I'm fine. I'd rather get it over with." Put it behind him. Let the murderous rage on Sarah's face slip away, admit how his guts had twisted when he'd stumbled on the vat of live symbiotes, and transform the dumbstruck shock of Yu's first aborted attack among the kneeling lo'taurs into an opportunity for research. One more debriefing, another round of questions he couldn't answer, and maybe Daniel could let it go. At least his hands weren't shaking any more.

"I convinced Hammond to let me sit in."

Daniel stared at the man standing next to him, leaning nonchalantly against the next bed, hands deep in his pockets. He frowned, only one word surfacing.

"Why?"

Ah, there it was. That tiny flicker of annoyance that he'd seen appear on Jack's face more and more frequently over the past few days. It was almost like peeking behind Jack's mask of casual friendliness to the real man underneath. Daniel felt himself nod, felt something snap back into balance as if the pieces of his life that were still not quite fitting dropped into place. After all the hours of wary tension, of careful friendliness, it was a relief.

"What kind of a question is that?" Jack snapped.

He raised both eyebrows, hoping Jack would finally say whatever he'd been too worried, or too uncomfortable, to voice. When Daniel had first woken, all he'd noticed was Jack's presence. Always. Sitting in the chair beside his bed. Head buried in reports, or arms crossed feigning sleep. No matter who else came and went. Teal'c. Sam. Even Lou Ferretti, once. Jack was there. And when Daniel could stay awake for more than a few moments, the colonel started to talk.

About little things, at first. The surprising flakiness of the mess hall's breakfast biscuits. The abysmal state of the roads on Cheyenne Mountain. How the Blackhawks' new goalie needed glasses. The general layout of Janet's nurses along the Jack O'Neill 'cold hands' scale. It had folded Daniel back into the normal world, brought him back to Earth, and allowed him to draw back slowly into Daniel Jackson, linguist, archaeologist, anthropologist, man. A man who lived in Colorado Springs. Who needed to clean his fish tank and had library books to return. Neither a slave nor a soldier.

Gradually, as Daniel recovered, as the constant pain faded into aches and the shaking in his hands lessened enough for him to hold a spoon, the words changed. Jack told him about the Tok'ra base, about Elliot and Lantash, even admitted how Teal'c had confronted him with some harsh truths after Daniel and Jacob had left. And then he laid out the real conversation between Jack and the general before the mission began. And Daniel listened to the words.

The words 'sorry,' or 'regret,' or 'wrong,' were not among them, but Daniel wasn't really expecting them. No, sometime between feeling Sarah's hand clenched with unholy strength around his neck to laying the poison in Elliot's cold hand, Daniel had let go of expectations. He'd let go of a lot of things.

Jack's anger was clear as he took a step closer. "Maybe because I'm your commanding officer, Daniel. Maybe because this is bound to be a witch hunt and the Washington types are more than willing to put your name at the top of the list. Maybe," Jack swept both hands through his hair before turning away in obvious frustration, "maybe because somebody has to keep you from opening your mouth and shooting yourself in the damned head."

The mixed metaphors made Daniel smile for a moment. He perched on the edge of his bed to tie his boots. "So …" The flash of need, the pang of loneliness, was swallowed up by the swamp of his persistently deadened emotions. "So, who's here?" he asked instead. Instead of begging for some other explanation from his team leader, his … friend.

"That useless excuse for a major – Davis, General Vidrine and some suited flunky from the Pentagon." Jack's tone set them all on the level of pond scum.

Daniel shrugged one shoulder. It didn't really matter. The truth was the truth, no matter who was asking the questions. He'd been there. Alone. He'd made the decisions. Alone. For better or worse, nothing could change it.

He straightened, smoothing both hands down the front of his shirt, double checking that the buttons were even, making sure the surface that he showed to the world was properly put together. A heavy warmth on his shoulder finally registered and he turned his head – surprised to find Jack standing so close, his piercing grip on Daniel's right shoulder.

"You're not okay, Daniel. This," he let go and waved one hand up and down in front of Daniel's chest, "this quiet, accepting guy isn't you. What happened to the arrogant prick who always knows what's best? Who isn't afraid of snake-heads or Air Force generals? Who talks like 300 miles per hour?"

Jack's eyes were hot and fierce, narrowing down to slits. Demanding. Dangerous. Daniel felt a sharp surge of answering fury coil in his gut.

"I mean it, Daniel." Jack's lips twisted. "It's too soon – Frasier said it could be weeks until your system's straightened out. Your hormones are all out of whack from those Tok'ra uppers."

The anger drained away. Jack was probably right. As usual. Janet had said the physiological effects of this mission would be far-reaching. The dark irony of that statement had given him a brief moment of heart-pounding, breath-stealing despair, the trusty medical monitors firing off ear-splitting alarms as images of Yu, of Sarah, Elliot's cold, grey skin, and especially his own team's dismissal echoing along his nerves.

K'tau. The Aschen. Sha're's lifeless face. Dreams of murder and world domination. Sam's disbelief. _"You're just going to take off with dad and Selmac and make a strike behind enemy lines?"_ Teal'c's loaded silence. Hammond's quiet doubt. _"Do you think you're up to it, son? I will not give this mission a 'go' unless you're one hundred per cent sure."_ And Jack. _"Aw, cut the crap, Daniel. The 'tough-guy' act doesn't really fit you now does it?"_

Nothing fit anymore. Not the fatigues, not the weapons, not the trappings of an archaeologist. Too big, too small, too … wrong.

It had taken long moments – and a hastily administered sedative - until he could steady himself, wiping sweat-laced palms against the clean, white sheets. That was the last time his emotions had betrayed him; now they'd hidden down deep, buffered by his own indifference and erratic brain chemistry.

"It doesn't matter, Jack," he said. "I remember everything pretty clearly. How I say it won't make any difference."

"And that, right there," Jack poked one finger into Daniel's chest. "That's why I'm sitting in. Somebody's gotta keep them from eating you alive."

Daniel clenched his teeth. "How are you going to do that, Jack? You don't know … you weren't there." He drew in a shaky breath. No one was there.

"I know that, Daniel."

It sounded like anger, but it looked like something else. Something softer, something kinder … something Daniel hadn't seen in far too long.

"It doesn't matter," Daniel repeated, turning towards the door. "The civilian failed. No one is going to be surprised." _'I'm not – and neither are you, Jack,'_ he added silently.

Jack watched Daniel's back disappear into the corridor. "Fine," he shouted after him. Ungrateful little shit.

And he let him go.

End

**A/N: I don't know how I can thank you all for reading and reviewing so loyally for SO long! I hope you're not disappointed, I never intended these stories to end on a high note, but rather, with the atmosphere that prevailed in waning Season Five, leading up to a tearful confrontation in the 'gate room over a dead robot, and a Daniel who felt his entire life had been a failure.**

**Comments, as always, are highly appreciated.**


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